Max has a gift!
by TeasingWords
Summary: My story is about Max from Life is Strange. (SPOILER-ALERT:) In my version she doesn't have any supernatural powers. Mark didn't kidnap and/or kill anyone. Rachel never disappeared and there is no tornado heading for AB. Max stumbles into a relationship with her teacher Mr. Jefferson. She son realizes he is no usual BF: He wants to have control over everything. Always.
1. Chapter 1

\- My story is about Max from "Life is strange". (SPOILER-ALERT:) In my version, though, she does not have any supernatural powers. Mark Jefferson did not kidnap and/or kill anyone. Rachel Amber never went missing and there is no tornado threatening Arcadia Bay. Max somehow stumbles into a relationship with her teacher Mr. Jefferson. She quickly realizes that he is no "normal" boyfriend: He wants to have full control over everything. Always. Besides, Frank Bowers and Nathan Prescott want to be close to Max as well. But why? There will be fem-slash-chapters about Chloe and Rachel from time to time. CAUTION: In this story there will be explicit sexual topics (also more coarse ones like SM) and strong language. As English is not my first language, I apology for any mistakes. Enjoy :-)! -

The sun was shining warm and golden on the campus of Blackwell Academy in Arcadia Bay. The nearly unbearably hot summer had finally made way for autumn that was still pleasantly warm at the Pacific coast in Oregon, USA.

Max Caulfield slowly strolled from the girls' dormroom towards the red and white brick building, which was the centre of the area. Being able to go to this boarding school and being allowed to learn so many new things here was still something special for Max. Arcadia Bay was just a small town, but all the more bigger was the name of Blackwell Academy, where only promising young artists and natural scientists of the nation got a position. And Max even had a scholarship!

It's only been three weeks since Max's parents, Vanessa and Ryan Caulfield, said goodbye to their beloved daughter. Tearfully, they left her alone and with lots of luggage, returning to Seattle where the family had been living for five years now. It was strange to be separated from the parents for the very first time, but Max had settled in quite well.

Her first act was to contact her best childhood friend, Chloe Price. Chloe had changed a lot over the years: Her former long blonde hair was now a blue bob. Her arms were covered in tattoos. She smoked weed and other stuff and listened to strange music. Punk-Rock and something like that. Not exactly Max's gusto. But the two girls clicked with each other the second they met again and they giggled together like back when they were 13, before Max had left Arcadia Bay.

At Blackwell Academy, Max had only found two real friends yet: shy, religious Kate Marsh and Warren Graham, a goofy guy who loved science. Her other fellow students were mostly nice to Max, but it wasn't enough to build more real friendships yet. Max was too introverted to swoop down on people and she wasn't interested in alcohol or partying. That probably made her boring in her peers' eyes.

While she dwelled on thoughts, Max trotted through the Academy's assembly hall, blocked out the chatter, laughter and fooling around of the other students and opened the door to her favourite classroom. In the Art Classroom, also called Photography Lab, there were dozens of books about photography on the shelves. Cameras of every style - big and small, analogue and digital ones - stringed together in cabinets. Max knew every single sample. A big printer enabled students to immediately print their works. That was something Max could only smile about. Her beloved Polaroid Spectra 1200i spitted out her images instantly, too. Max had always been into instant photography. Luckily, her parents had supported her passion ever since it showed up. They bought a small supply of the rare and expensive instant films each month and sent them to her.

And now, Max Caulfield sat here, in prestigious Blackwell Academy, waiting for being taught by nowadays greatest photographer.

Mark Jefferson.

-Granted, that was a rather short and uneventful chapter, but it was just an introduction. I'll continue writing as soon as possible, and with more action ;-).-


	2. Chapter 2

The classroom slowly filled up. Max watched the incoming students.  
Slightly chubby Alyssa Anderson with her purple hair sat down at the table next to Max and gave her a nod. Alyssa was quite nice but didn't talk much. She often seemed to be discontented and Max had not really got through to her yet, even though she liked her.  
More students entered the Photography Lab. To some of them, Max had never talked to before.  
And then there were those fellow students of which she wished it would be like that.  
As if by command, Victoria Chase and her entourage of superbitches strutted into the classroom. Slender Victoria gave every single one of her classmates a dismissive look before sitting down. She ran her fingers through her blonde pixie cut.  
Her friends, Courtney Wagner and Taylor Christensen, imitated the disparaging facial expression perfectly. They sat down as well, crossing their long legs like models.  
As always, they seemed to look at Max in a particularly despicable way.  
 _Probably just my imagination_ , Max thought sighing, stroking her hair out of her face. It bothered her that she often wasn't able to suppress this nervous gesture. She quickly looked at her desk.  
Max hated being watched by others. Usually she was the one who observed others. Through her Spectra's view-finder.  
Tom Highley, a guy from her school in Seattle, once said, Max was invisible to others. He meant to insult her, but actually that was exactly what Max wanted most of the time. Being invisible.

For example when Mark Jefferson entered the Photography Lab.  
Max caught herself wriggling about on her chair.  
How could a man in his end-thirties look so damn good?  
His brown hair did not show one single grey strand. _Certainly dyed_ , Max thought. The photographer's dark shock of hair was styled in a somewhat deliberately messy way. It made Mr. Jefferson look youthful. The glasses made him look sophisticated.  
Just the way he stroke his beard made nearly all the girls melt away. The boys thought he was cool. EVERYONE thought he was cool.  
The class got quiet. Mr. Jefferson exuded a natural authority. There was no need for him to raise his voice in order to keep his pupils under control.

Eventually, Max caught herself staring at her teacher, slightly open-mouthed.  
Her head was resting on the hand. She surely looked like a total moron!  
Hastily, Max braced an upright sitting posture and looked around unobtrusively. The lesson had already started. Everyone had their books open in front of them.  
While Max was trying to figure out which page they were on, a shadow appeared on her desk.  
Max looked up.  
Mr. Jefferson was standing in front of her, his arms crossed before his chest. He looked down at her with some kind of fatherly sternness.  
"Well Max, were have your thoughts been wandering around again?"  
Max went beet-red.  
Before she could think of an answer, Mr. Jefferson continued: "Wherever they were, they should quickly return to your book. Page 34. Note down the most important facts you find there and answer the questions on the text." He gave Max his typical hemi smirk.  
Then he turned around and strolled back to the teacher's desk where he became engrossed with the book himself.  
A silent giggle could be heard in the room as Max quickly opened the right page and snapped her notepad and pen. Without looking up, the girl knew where it came from.  
Only Taylor and Courtney could giggle that silly.  
A short glance at their direction confirmed Max's suspicion. Smirking, the bitches nudged each other with their elbows. Victoria however didn't laugh. She looked over at Max with a glimpse that was partly despicably, partly sneeringly. Then she turned back to her book as if Max wasn't worth getting more than two seconds of her precious attention.

Somehow, Max managed to get the next 20 minutes over with, luckily without attracting any attention a second time.  
The class discussed the tasks from the book. Max acted as unobtrusive as possible.  
The topic was interesting, but her thoughts digressed again and again.  
She looked outside. The September sun sent its rays in a charming angle through the window next to Max. Dust particles shimmered in the air. The light drew halos on the others' heads.  
"Always catch the moment!"  
That was Mr. Jefferson's motto. Therefore, Max took her Spectra that lay - ready as always - on her desk, directed the lens towards herself and took the shot.  
The clicking of the shutter release and the whirring sound of the photograph coming out of the camera's slot were rather silent.  
But it was loud enough for Mr. Jefferson.  
He interrupted Daniel DaCosta, a nice, shy fellow student of Max's who was solving a task.  
"Max", the teacher commenced, "just made what I believe you kids call a 'selfie'. A dumb word for a wonderful tradition. Self-portraits in photography have been around since the 18th century. And Max ... has a gift."  
The ever so gifted Max wished the ground could open and swallow her up at this very moment.  
For the second time this day she attracted everyone's attention unintentionally.  
"Sorry", she murmured. "I did not want to ... I mean ... not want to disrupt the class."  
Mr. Jefferson smiled his crooked smile. He left his glimpse on Max for a few more seconds.  
It felt like an eternity. Nervously, she stroke her fringe out of her face.  
"No, no, au contraire, you gave me notions for an important topic", the teacher eventually said, finally approaching the whole class again.  
"You've surely already heard of our 'Everyday Heroes' contest. We've brought up the matter last week already. But for the dreamers among you"- for some reason, Max felt addressed - "I'll repeat it with pleasure: The contest is carried out by an organization for young photographers. You submit photographs that, according to you, show heroes of our everyday life or respective situations. I pick the best of the photographs and fly with the winner to San Francisco where the picture will be exhibited in the Zeitgeist Gallery. I want as many of you as possible to participate. Preferably all of you."  
During his last words the school bell rang. Quickly the students bundled their stuff together.  
Max also hastened to get out of the room.  
She had an engagement with Chloe. Besides, she wanted to get away from Mr. "I abash you and embarrass you in front of the others" as fast as possible.  
He was deep in conversation with Victoria anyway. The blonde put the moves on her teacher with a flirty smile as usual. Or at least she tried.  
 _Just embarrassing_ , Max thought with a shake of her head. She had her hand on the doorhandle.  
"Max", a sound came from across the room.  
Oh no.  
She stopped.  
"Max", the deep, velvety voice repeated. "I want you to stay curtly. We've got something to talk about."

\- Ooops, I accidentally wrote a cliché-ending for this chapter. ;-) The dialogues are partly made-up, partly from what I remember from the game. As I can't recite everything perfectly, I hope you don't mind it being not a 100% accurate. -


	3. Chapter 3

The doorhandle still in her hand, Max turned around, almost hoping Mr. Jefferson meant another Max.  
Of course not. Even if there was another person with this name in the class: Mr. Jefferson, Max and Victoria were the only ones left in the room. Victoria wasn't upbeat at all about her teacher denying her his further attention for the benefit of Max. The blonde didn't even try to hide her waspish mien as Max slowly came back to the teacher's desk. With furious, narrow eyes Victoria was staring at the smaller girl. It's not that Max was troubled by that in any way. Her and this chick would never become friends. Max was way more vexed with the fact that her stomach seemed to hang somewhere on floor height and that her palms were sweaty. _It's just a teacher,_ she told herself, _like Mrs. Hoida or Ms. Grant_. But Max' traitorous body wasn't quite interested in that thought. It merrily continued perspiring.  
"Victoria, please leave Max and me alone", Mr. Jefferson imposed. "We have to talk."  
Once again, Max was impressed by Mr. Jefferson's authority. Any other teacher would probably have said something like "Your friends are surely waiting for you already" or something like that, just to avoid aggravating Miss Perfect. Mr. Jefferson though didn't seem to care at all that Victoria was a rich, spoiled, irascible bitch that tended to hysteria.  
The irascible bitch now darted one last vicious glance at Max and strode marked slowly, hips swaying, through the door, leaving it wide open. Max, who had followed her with her eyes now looked back at Mr. Jefferson. He returned her look with a patient smile, resting on his desk in that casual manner again. And didn't say a word. He just continued smiling.  
The row of fussing students in the hall slowly receded until only occasionally quiet sounds could be heard through the open classroom door. Mark Jefferson still didn't say anything. Unsettled, Max bobbed back and forth on her balls. She nervously stroke a strand of hair from her forehead, admonishing herself for this typical gesture at the very same moment she did it.  
Eventually, she couldn't bear the silence and this unaltered patient smile anymore.  
"M- ... Mr. Jefferson? You ... you wanted to talk with me? What's the matter?"  
Mr. Jefferson's smile got slightly broader. He crossed his arms before his chest.  
"Max, it's about your reveries during class. I'm sorry but it won't work out like that any longer. Even Kate and Daniel contribute more to my lessons than you do." Mr. Jefferson's smile had given way to a worried mien.  
Max looked at the floor contritely. She had heard stuff like that from teachers before. But none of them had made her feel this bad. Suddenly Max had a feeling that she had just buggered up the greatest opportunity in her life - learning mad skills from one of her favourite photographers - even though it was just a small rebuke.  
"Max - I know you've got the soul of an artist", Mr. Jefferson continued now with peaceable accents. Max lifted her glance, but not her head. He smiled again.  
"Artist are often just ... elsewhere with their thoughts. And I did mean what I said earlier: You have a gift, Max Caulfield."  
From saddened to excessively enthusiastic in less than five seconds. At the same time Max felt awkward with the praise. Well, Mr. Jefferson was not that kind of person that cheers somebody up with empty words if he didn't mean what he said. But Max had been raised to be modest and was bad at handling compliments. Her stupid body decided to blush again.  
"You'll definitely participate in the 'Everyday Heroes' contest", Mr. Jefferson suddenly said after a short break. Max lifted her head and looked at him, frowning. He hadn't asked her for it or incited her to do it - that was an order! His voice brooked no dissent. Could he possibly be reading her mind? She actually were up to duck out of it...  
"Mr. Jefferson", Max began quietly, "I'm really glad about your assessment, but ... so many talented young people are going to participate and -" "And you think you don't belong to them?", the teacher interrupted her. It didn't seem to be an rhetorical question, so Max tried to find an answer. "I think my work is improvable", she answered carefully.  
"Oh, it is", Mr. Jefferson swiftly responded.  
Bad mood.  
"But it always is. Mine as well and even great Cindy Sherman's work is. Those who aren't willing to steadily improve themselves don't belong in this Academy. And you've proven often enough that you didn't get your scholarship for nothing."  
Jab jab, good mood was back again.  
Max couldn't catch up with stroking her fringe out of her face. Her gaze was again targeted at the floor, but this time with a little smile on her lips.  
Mr. Jefferson kept quiet for another moment, then he finally said: "Get along with you! You surely have better plans for today than letting some old dude lecture you."  
Max couldn't tamp down on a little grin. "Thanks, Mr. Jefferson", she said and quickly turned to go. Suddenly the room seemed to be way too hot.  
"Max", Mr. Jefferson cat-called at her as she had nearly reached the door. She turned around and quizzically looked at him. He smiled. "Be your own biggest critic but don't allow this critic to be your own worst enemy."  
"Thanks, Mr. Jefferson", Max repeated, smiling as well and with weak knees.  
Then she left the room and closed the door behind her. On the other side a gaze followed her through the milk glass pane until the girl was out of sight.

Finally outside, Max took a deep breath. By this time of the year the evenings were slightly brisk and she was glad about the denim jacket she slipped over her light-pink shirt. On her way to the parking lot where Chloe planned on picking her up, Max mulled over her teacher's words. He hammered it home to her that he would not accept a No concerning the contest. Max wondered what he could do if she just refused doing it - he could not give her a bad mark since it was on a voluntary basis -, when somebody blocked her way. That somebody seemed to be quite furious.  
"Victoria", Max simply said, getting ready to passing her by.  
"Stop!", the girl demanded and bumped her palm against Max's sternum pretty ruggedly in order to make her stop. Max grimaced from the pain. She had to overcome the temptation of ripping the posh chaplet off Victoria's neck and feed her with it.  
"What is it?", Max asked, making her voice sound as bored as possible.  
"Would you explain to me what that was supposed to be?!", the blonde jangled. Max decided to play dumb. "Like what?" she asked back.  
"The thing with Mark of course", Victoria snarled. She really wasn't a self-controlled person. Max snorted amused. "Mark? So you're calling each other by first names already? Does he know that, too?"  
"That's none of your goddamn business!", Victoria snapped. Considering that she lived in a rather noble household she lost composure pretty easily.  
Before Max could think of a glibly comeback, someone tipped on Victoria's shoulder and a serene voice said: "If you don't leave dear Mad Max alone in an instant, imma pluck your blonde hair and wear it as a pubic hair toupee. The only one who's allowed to insult Max is me, ya know."  
Victoria turned around to see Chloe Price with crossed arms, standing just inches away. The girls had only met each other briefly a few times before. But Chloe was exactly that type of person that Victoria despised the most. She gave her a scowl.  
"It's between Max and me, you bloody-" "Get lost, ho", Chloe interrupted her. Her voice sounded still serene but her eyes flashed warningly. Victoria seemed to gauge whether or not she should mess with the punk, then she turned round on her ballerina shoes' heels and made off into Blackwell-area, fuming with rage.  
"Yoyoyo Max, everything OK with you?", Chloe asked as soon as the chick was out of sight. She put her arm around Max's shoulders and ruffled through her hair. Laughing, Max freed herself from the headlock.  
"Doing quite well", she answered. "Thank you."  
"No big deal", Chloe responded with a shrug. "The two of us against the world, kiddo."

When Chloe's rusty pickup truck drove into the driveway of her family home, Max felt like a 13-year-old again. Sometimes, she almost expected Chloe's deceased father William to be in the garden, as if the horrible accident that cost him his life had never happened.  
Instead of indulgent Mr. Price it was David Madsen who greeted the girls in the front yard: "Max", he simply murmured, "Chloe". Max gave him a short nod when passing by. She didn't feel comfortable in his presence. He was a former soldier, Chloe's stepfather and by the way also a security guard at Blackwell Academy. He was paranoid and choleric and he conflicted with his stepdaughter all the time.  
Chloe opened the front door. Her mother Joyce worked at Two Whales Diner at that time of the day, so the girls had the house for themselves as long as David worked in the garden. They entered Chloe's room. It was awfully untidy: Old beer cans, dirty clothes and upset ashtrays indicated only in patches that the room actually did have a floor. The walls were sprayed with seamy graffiti sayings. Posters of half-naked women, Punk-Rock bands and skulls were hung up.  
Here and there, Rachel Amber's face peeped out between "The Offspring" and "Pennywise". Max was a little jealous of the pretty girl who had graduated in Blackwell Academy the year before. They had met only two or three times. Rachel always was very kind to Max, but somehow Max didn't feel cool enough for the beauty. Chloe seemed to have displaced Max with Rachel when the Caulfield family had moved to Seattle. Sure, Max hardly ever got in touch with Chloe over the years. But still it ate away at her when she saw how well the girls got along with each other.  
But in moments like now, lounging together on the unmade bed, Max felt certain that she meant as lot to Chloe as in past times. A person can have more than one friend at a time after all.  
Max began to cough when Chloe lit a joint. She skidded a little. "Pussy", Chloe murmured between two drags.  
"Silly ass", Max responded. She did forbear from pointing out that there would be huge trouble if David ever found out about this. Max often wondered if Chloe infuriated her "step-douche" or "step-fuehrer", as she called him too willingly, on purpose. It was immature and unnecessary, but that was just Chloe. Crazy, effervescing, childish, yet reliable and unswervingly loyal Chloe. Max smiled. She skidded back to her best friend, lay her head on Chloe's belly and let her thoughts roam around. Back to the times when Chloe was still blonde. When William was alive. When Chloe and Max played pirates. Back to the times when handsome teachers didn't give her sweaty palms and weak knees.


	4. Chapter 4

\- Chloe -

After a few hours of tattling and chillaxing, Max had to start back to Blackwell. Chloe accompanied her to the bus stop and threw a well-meant insult at her before the vehicle's doors closed. She could see Max's smile as the bus started. Chloe gazed after the conveyance for another second or two, then she put her hands into her trousers pockets and padded back home. Joyce meanwhile were home from work and let David palaver her. He got worked up about the Blackwell-students. Drugs here, violence there. Blah, blah, fucking blah. He made it sound like the academy accommodated the worst drug cartel of the States.  
This guy was just nuts. Chloe never really made an effort to understand what her mother saw in him. He wasn't Chloe's dad - he even was the exact opposite of William - and therefore some sort of natural enemy for Chloe. Without heeding the married couple, the girl stomped upstairs and threw herself on the bed in her messy room. Chloe contemplated the growth chart on her wall. Her dad had had to measure hers and Max's height every few months. The first step. The first lost baby tooth. The first time riding a bike. The first day of school. The chart displayed all the great and minor events of a child's life, marked with date, age and height.  
Until it suddenly ended. The day when a part of Chloe died. And with it the funny, cheerful, blonde girl.  
The same day today's Chloe was born, that blue-haired, grim young woman that loved causing trouble, had been kicked out of the academy and sometimes just wanted to see her stepfather's world burn. Chloe dismissed the fact that her mother suffered from this behaviour as well. It was Joyce who brought that control addicted knucklehead into the family. So it was _her_ who had to bear the side effects. Disputes, incomprehension, disturbance in the household.  
Chloe closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Sometimes she wished it was her who was dead. Then all of this earthly shit would finally be over. No more sorrow. No more tears. Just eternal darkness. Chloe spaced out. When she opened her eyes some time later, there was an angel in her room.  
Well, the angel did not wear a white dress, nor had it wings or a halo. In fact, it was wearing denim shorts, a red blouse and light brown boots. The angel's dark blonde hair floated open over its chest.  
"Hey Chloe", the angel said.  
"Hey Rachel", Chloe replied. She smiled. Her saddened thoughts immediately faded into the background. Rachel was ... a pure muse in human form. She was funny, smart, sarcastic, dreamy and beautiful. Nearly too perfect to be true.  
Rachel climbed on the bed and snuggled her button nose into Chloe's crook of the neck. She sighed blissfully.  
"Wazzup, crack slut?", Rachel asked. "Nothin', glitter chick", Chloe replied, pulled Rachel onto her and kissed her on the mouth. Their lips gently met. Chloe's tongue searched for Rachel's, but the girl curled herself out of the kiss. "You taste like weed", she grumbled sniffily.  
"So?"  
"Smoking weed: yeah. Licking out a weed ashtray: no", Rachel clarified.  
Chloe sneered. "As you may think fit, princess. Hey, speaking of princess: I had to save Max from Miss 'I'm-so-much-more-awesome-than-you' Chase. You should have seen missus waltz off." Chloe laughed thinking about the situation.  
Rachel didn't say a word.  
"Rach?"  
Nothing. Rachel lay silent next to Chloe, twiddling with her French nails. Chloe rolled her eyes. She knew what was on. "Come on Rach, you're not really jealous of Max?"  
Rachel's silence was enough of an answer.  
"Max is like a sister to me! You know fucking well I don't see her like _that_. Just like she doesn't see _me_ like that! Plus ..." - "Okay, okay", Rachel relented. "I know, she means a lot to you. Which is totally okay with me. She is actually nice. Likable girl, really. Let's just forget 'bout that, cool?"  
But Chloe was already spoiling for a fight. "Plus", she continued as if she hadn't heard Rachel's words, "the situation between you two was probably different if you finally stood by me and didn't let the world think you bang Frank!"  
Rachel, who planned on saying something, shut her mouth. She just looked at Chloe. The punk struck two nerves of the relationship. Rachel gulped.  
Although she usually argued the converse, her parent's opinion was quite important to her. And the Ambers unfortunately believed that homosexuality was the most abnormal thing to ever happen to a human being. This play of hide and seek lasted for more than six months now. Chloe wasn't very welcome at the Amber's house anyway. She were a troublemaker, bad company. The Amber family didn't want to hear or see that neither their own daughter was an innocent angel. And because the Ambers should never find out about that "shame", no one else was allowed to know it, either. The small town had its ears and eyes everywhere. Rachel felt at odds with herself. In sheer desperation she had made out with Frank Bowers in public. And even a little more than that. He was a drug dealer, but at least he was male. It took Chloe quite some time to forgive Rachel. But she couldn't forget this misstep. She still felt sick when she imagined Rachel lying in that fleabag's arms.  
But Chloe also knew about her girlfriend's inner conflict. She was incredibly mad at this ignorant world and at Rachel for with her masquerade she took part at this ignorance.  
Rach had teary eyes. She usually didn't weep easily, but the cheating affected her as deeply as it affected Chloe.  
Chloe saw the tears. No matter how angry she was, she couldn't bear to see Rachel cry. God knows, Chloe herself had shed enough tears in her life and she couldn't bear seeing a beloved one cry. "Rach", Chloe said. "Listen, I know how your folks work. But when it makes you feel that low after only like five or six months - how bad will it be in two years then? In five? Or twenty, for fuck's sake?! Fuck your parents, you'll live longer than them anyway. So fucking start having fun." Rachel's dumbfounded look told Chloe once again that she wasn't really good at comforting others. "What I wanted to say was", Chloe struggled for the right words, "I, err ... mean ... I wanna kiss you, ya know? Everywhere, not only in my room. At the Two Whales. On your old folk's sofa. At the beach. At the lighthouse. Everywhere. I don't wanna hide anymore." She stroke a strand of hair behind Rachel's ear and looked her deeply in her hazel eyes. "Maybe we should bring your parents some dope from Frank, so they can relax for once?" Rachel laughed a bit. "And there she is again, my smiling Barbie", Chloe said. "That's how I like ya, moppet."

\- Max -

When the bus's doors closed behind her, Max shivered a little. The night had descended upon the town. Max hurried to get from the Blackwell area to her room. The denim jacket tightly wrapped around her, she walked past the huge school building in the direction of the dorm. She occasionally stirred up leaves that raised into the air, rustling, just to immediately glide back down.  
Max didn't see him in the darkness. He hid behind a tree. With his slender frame it was easy for him to stay unseen. Until he decided to show himself. To get in Max's way. To _jump_ in Max's way, to be more exact.  
"MAD MAAAAX!", Warren Graham roared, loud enough to wake the whole area. The addressed girl nearly got a heart attack. When she recognized the lanky guy with the brown mop of curly hair, who now doubled up with laughter, she was relieved and angry at the same time. "Warren Ass-ham!" she gasped out. "You total jerk-off!" Her outrage seemed to amuse him even more. He could hardly speak from laughter. "The ... the look on your face", he chuckled. "Like I was Ghostface or somethin'." He had another laughing fit.  
Max rolled her eyes and began to move again. "Very funny, Warren, really. So mature. Ha-ha."  
"It absolutely was a scene that could have come straight from a movie", a voice behind them said. Max recognized the voice even without turning around. She still did.  
"Oh, good evening, Mr. Jefferson", Warren said surprised. He bobbed up und suddenly seemed to be embarrassed - unsurprisingly, after that crazy business.  
"Good evening, you both", Mr. Jefferson said while walking towards the students.  
"Good evening", Max murmured. Actually, she had reached her dose of blushing for one day already. She felt ashamed of her buddy's behaviour.  
Mr. Jefferson turned to the boy. "Warren ...Graham, right?" Warren nodded. As he attended the science classes, the photographer didn't teach any of his subjects.  
"You've got one ... ringing body of sound", Mr. Jefferson continued. The sneering under-tone in his velvety voice was unmistakable. "Maybe you should sign on the choir, what do you think?" When Warren couldn't find an answer to that, the teacher said: "Whatever, you should quickly return to your dorm rooms. The permission to go out is well and truly over." The times of permission to go out weren't too strict at Blackwell Academy (what caused David Madsen to complain permanently) but of course they shouldn't be totally disobeyed. Warren nodded again but paused for a second to look at Max indecisively.  
"I guess you'll find your room without Miss Caulfield's help", Mr. Jefferson said firmly. And again Warren nodded. "Good night, Mr. Jefferson. Max." Then he shot off.  
For the second time this day Max was alone with her way too handsome teacher. She hoped he couldn't see her blushed cheeks in the dark.  
Mr. Jefferson looked at her. "Were you out and about to shoot some photos for the contest?", he asked. Max shook her head. "No", she admitted.  
"You've only got one and a half weeks left for submitting an entry, don't forget about that. And you know..." - "You want me to participate, yes. Err, all of us", she hastily added.  
Mr. Jefferson seemed to search for Max's eyes. Having them found, he didn't release them anymore. "You _will_ participate, Max", he said. His voice sounded more low-pitched than usual. Calm. But very certain. It wasn't only the cold that made Max's knees shudder.  
"And now go to your room."  
"Yes", Max said, resisting the idiotic urge to add "Sir". This wasn't a military school, this was an art college! She was an adult, goddammit! Even though he gave her weak knees, Max suddenly was vexed about Mr. Jefferson's commanding tone. She turned to go.  
"Good night", Max said tersely.  
"See you tomorrow, Max." Even those four words sounded ... certain.  
With big steps the girl rushed back to the dorm rooms. When Max glanced back over her shoulder, Mr. Jefferson was gone. The night had swallowed him up.

In the girls' dormitory Max sneaked into the bathroom for a quick wash. Only now she realized how bone-tired she was. She entered her bedroom and put on her night shirt and her pyjama shorts without switching on the light. Then she fell into her bed and closed her eyes.  
 _See you tomorrow, Max_ , it echoed in her head until she drifted away into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

For some reason, going back Mr. Jefferson's class the next day was strange.  
His words still echoed in Max's head.  
 _You'll definitely participate ... see you tomorrow, Max ... You'll participate_ ...  
Max made every effort not to stand out in class. She opened her book when the others did and sketched details of a tree just like the pupils were told to do. She even put her hand up at one point to avoid being called a dreamer again.  
She answered the question with a firm voice - she was sure that her answer was correct - and received an acknowledging glimpse from her teacher. After that she had her peace for the rest of the lesson.  
Victoria wasted all of her nasty looks on Max, who for her part tried keeping her eyes on her work.  
 _Just ignore that stupid cow_ , she told herself.  
At the end of the lesson a few pupils already submitted their entries for the Everyday Heroes contest. Alyssa and Evan Harris, a very talented boy, came in for a lot of praise for that.  
Somehow, that bothered Max. Especially when the teacher looked at her like _Look at it Max, others can do it, too. Why not you?_ Max sighed silently. That was just her imagination, for sure. She seemed to hallucinate quite often recently.  
While the students trudged out of the room, Mr. Jefferson cat-called at some of them: "Taylor, I'm expecting your entry soon. Daniel, think less, just take a photograph. Kate, I'm sure you'll find a great subject. Max..."  
Still walking, Max turned around to her teacher. Their eyes met. She paused. His glasses were a little dazzling but she could still see his brown eyes clearly. Mr. Jefferson didn't finish the sentence but only nodded in Max's direction, his eyebrows pulled-up in a meaningful way. Max pressed her lips together and gulped. Once again he had this resolute expression. He didn't let her go.  
In that very moment, someone bumped into Max, the eye contact was interrupted and Max was delivered from the spell of the dark depths of Mark Jefferson's eyes.  
Absent-minded, Max rubbed the punched upper arm while she was being washed out of the classroom with a wave of more or less motivated pupils.  
A hand touched her shoulder. Max glanced up. Her friend Kate had caught her up.  
"Well Max? You seem to be a little jazzed today", Kate said.  
Max smiled a bit. Her friend was a clever and sensitive girl. Kate immediately realized when somebody was upset about anything, but she didn't probe into it when one didn't want to tell her. She was a wonderful friend. Too bad not more people realized that.  
"Hey Kate", Max said. "Yeah, I'm afraid I'm a little ... confused at the moment. I can't quite tell you the reason, I'm not sure about it myself."  
Kate smiled her delicate smile and let it go at that. Max was glad about her tactful nature.  
"Coffee?", Kate asked.  
"You can read my mind", Max replied with a deep sigh. The two laughed.  
As they had class later that day, the girls decided to get a quick coffee at the academy's canteen and make themselves comfortable on campus.  
On their way to the canteen the two crossed the big assembly hall where a lot was going on: Students attached garlands and life-sized fluorescent adhesive skeletons to the walls. Posters and bills were pinned on cabinets and bill-boards. About a month from now a big Halloween party would take place in the academy. Max loved Halloween and was thrilled to bits by the decoration - but the celebration was mainly organized by the Vortex Club. Under command of the rich - Victoria Chase and Nathan Prescott -, adherents of this group felt cooler, better and prettier than the "ordinary mortals" surrounding them. Max had heard that the Vortex Club was all about drugs and alcohol and stayed away from the group's core as far as possible.  
Neither Kate nor Max felt certain about going to that party. When Chloe had heard about it, she insisted on going there - as Max's company. "It's going to be hella fun, stuffy old girl", Chloe had announced.  
But Max wasn't too sure about that.  
Her and Kate turned left. Max smiled at Samuel Taylor who was mopping the floor. The janitor was a little weird - for example he referred to himself as a third person - and some even thought he was a creep. But Max liked Sam. He was kind and very animal-loving and he seemed to have a good insight into human nature.

Max and Kate opened the swing doors of the packed canteen. A buzzing seemed to float above the room, a mixture of students' voices, the rattling of dishes and eating sounds. Chewing, smacking, slurping, swallowing.  
Max was glad when her and Kate finally had their coffees and made their way out. The friends found a spare bench and table beneath a birch.  
With a relieved sigh, Max deposited her schoolbag and her camera bag, let her head roll forth and back on her shoulders an took a huge swallow of her hot brew. Kate sat down across from Max am smiled at her.  
"Victoria can't stand you at the moment, can she?", Kate asked, sipping on the coffee. She looked at Max with her delicate smile. "She nearly killed you with her looks today."  
Max rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I don't know what I did to her, but ... ugh, no idea."  
Just like the day before, the sun cast an enchanting light on the campus. The brown, red and yellow leaves, traversed by some leftover green here and there, were rustling on the branches of the trees. Without thinking twice, Max unpacked her camera, directed it at Kate slightly from below, so the tree in background would be in the picture as well, and shot.  
Kate smiled. She had already gotten used to Max keeping her Spectra ready always and everywhere.  
The picture came out of the slot. It was bare at first but gradually, contours and colours began to appear. Kate, sitting on the bench, drinking coffee, her shoulders held in from the wind, the dark blonde hair - pinned up to a voluminous bun as always - a little unkempt, the hazel eyes closed in relax. The photograph was a little overexposed, but very pretty. Max showed it to Kate, then tucked it into her camera bag.  
"I know it", Kate suddenly said contextless.  
"Sorry?" Max looked at her, confused.  
"I know why Victoria doesn't like you", Kate explained after an extensive swallow from her cup.  
"Yeah?" Max wrinkled her forehead. "Because she's a sappy bitch who always wants to get her spoiled way and I, for some reason, don't fit in her stuff?"  
"No", Kate simply said, "Envy. Jealousy."  
Max snorted with laughter. "Yeah, sure. Victoria is pretty, rich, popular - for whatever reason - and talented." Admitting the latter wasn't too easy for Max, but it was true. Victoria's parents were gallery owners as far as Max had gotten that right, and the blonde had grown up with art.  
"Why would she be jealous of ME?"  
"Quite possibly she has everything you mentioned", Kate stated, "but she her style isn't as unique as yours. Even selfies look good when you are the photographer. You've got your instant pictures and one can see how much you love photography. It just seems to come to you out of nowhere. That's what bothers her."  
Max stroked her fringe off her forehead. "Nuts", she murmured sheepishly.  
"Sure, Max!", Kate said with a big smile. "And you know that. You're way too humble!"  
"Look who's talking", Max retaliated, winking. Kate was fantastic at drawing caricatures, comics and the weirdest creatures, but she was far too modest to swagger. She regarded her knack as God-given, not as acquired.  
"Whatever", Kate steered the talk back to where it started, "be that as it may, she is totally envious of you because of Mr. Jefferson, too."  
Max nearly choked on her coffee. "Excuse me?", she said, putting her cup on the table a little more fiercely than necessary.  
Again Kate shrugged lightly. "She's totally into him -" "Everyone is", Max interposed. "- but he", Kate continued undeterred, "only has eyes for you."  
Max stared into her steaming cup. A withered leaf disengaged from a birch branch above her, whirred through the air and landed next to Max's shaky hand. She flicked it away.  
For a few seconds, only the rush of the wind in the trees and the chirping of some birds could be heard.  
Finally, Kate broke the silence. "He likes your style. Sure, that is something very subjective, and Victoria has an appealing style, too - but Mr. Jefferson likes your best I believe. And Evan's maybe. He sees a lot of potential in you and he is right."  
Max let her eyes wander over the campus. Many students sat on the benches, the monument in the middle of the area or on the grass. So many young people with dreams, hopes and fears just like her. Every single pupil here had to be talented, otherwise they wouldn't be here. Why would Mr. Jefferson, great Mark Jefferson, account just her photography? She was only Max Caulfield!  
"Nonsense", Max said and emptied her coffee. Kate only gave her the delicate smile as an answer.

An hour later, sitting in Ms. Grant's science class, Max was still lost in thoughts about the talk with Kate. Warren sat next to her and carried out the tests the class were told to do in pairs virtually by himself. Warren made no mention of yesterday evening - he was probably still embarrassed by his "performance". Instead, he talked about the newest technical gadgets he planned on buying. Max only listened with half an ear.  
Later, everyone was told to note down the experimental results on their own. Max really tried to set up a chemical equation, but she couldn't focus a bit. Thoughtfully she stared on the squared paper in front of her.  
Sulphate ... oxygen ... copper ... Mr. Jefferson ... photographs ... talent ...  
When the school bell concluded the last lesson for the day, Max found the initials "MJ" scribbled at the edge of her notepad instead of a chemical reaction. The letters were multiply underlined as if they were of great importance.  
Flabbergasted, Max shook her head. She had no idea how those letters got there. But it was obviously her handwriting. She quickly painted them over and hastily rushed to her dorm room. She didn't want to see anyone today anymore. Only her and her thoughts: Photographs, a contest and a middlescent man who was way too handsome to be allowed to be near hormone-driven students.


	6. Chapter 6

The laptop's monitor was the only thing lightening the room. The red and golden evening had made way for a foggy night that swallowed the street lights in front of the dormitories.  
Max was so engrossed in her computer that she hadn't realized how the shadows got longer and longer and the room darker and darker. The lampion string above her bed was switched off as well as the ceiling light.  
Max was searching for inspiration for the contest for three hours now, browsing several artists' homepages. Actually, that wasn't the best idea, as Max would get an idea way too accurate of a photo she'd never be able to take and thus be disappointed again.  
She had already noted down some ideas, scrapped them, crossed them out, noted something down again. A try of her emulating a photo would probably look like a cheap copy. Not her style. Mr. Jefferson would notice it immediately and not let her get away with that. Nothing could slip his attention.  
Max chewed away on her bottom lip. Thoughtfully, she stared at her PC.  
By itself, a new tab opened, by itself, _Mark Jefferson_ was being typed in into the Google search field and the first link was being clicked on. His official homepage was modest, but designed in a very appealing way: Everything was in black, white and grey. The sanserif, slender font matched it perfectly. Max had been on this page perceived a thousand times as soon as she had learned that she got accepted at Blackwell. But not anymore ever since she attended the academy. It was kind of surreal, seeing Mark Jefferson on upscale webpages and live in class the day after, hearing his calm voice in an interview video and a short time after in the classroom. The fact that this magnificent photographer had decided to teach at Blackwell had been one of the reasons for Max to apply there after all. How often do you have the opportunity to learn from one of your idols?  
The girl opened the picture gallery of the homepage. Mark Jefferson's photography was just like him: profound, strict somehow, yet with a gentle overtone. Nearly all of the photos were black and white, with extreme shadows, showing people of any gender and age: A little boy trailing a teddy bear behind, looking insecurely at the camera. A young black woman with teary eyes, yet a steady gaze. A close-up of an old man's face. Each of his wrinkles seemed to tell a story, each of the white small hair in his eyebrows seemed to contain more life experience than a normal person could ever reach. Max knew every single photograph, but she noticed new details every time she looked at them.  
She laid her head on her bent arm. Max was tired, but she clicked through the whole picture gallery before she finally closed her laptop and went to bed. Maybe it would have been better not to peer at the homepage again. Max had the awful feeling that she'd never be anywhere near Mark Jefferson's art - and therefore, that she'd never get the chance to convince him of her photography.

The next morning Max felt knocked up. Drowsy, she toddled into the bathroom, quickly brushed her teeth and showered under hot water. When she emerged from behind the shower curtain, wrapped in a towel, Dana Ward was standing at a sink, washing her face. Dana was a very pretty girl even though in Max's opinion she went a little overboard with the make up and the revealing outfits she often wore. She had long auburn hair and great blue cat-like eyes.  
Dana finished washing her face, dried it and smiled at Max through the mirror.  
"Good morning, Max", she said, still smiling.  
"Good morning, Dana", Max replied and carefully smiled back.  
Dana was so pretty, big-breasted, a cheerleader, member of the Vortex Club - and still super friendly towards Max. Max wasn't quite sure what to think about that even though she had a bad conscience when she thought about Dana that way while the girl gave her a beaming smile.  
Max quickly returned to her room; she wasn't too keen on more people seeing her with eye circles and only dressed in a towel.  
Back at her own little realm, Max uttered a profound sigh. She looked at herself in the mirror next to her bed. Under her light blue eyes indeed were dark circles. Not quite the prettiest sight. Max's nose was slim and small. A few freckles were on the skin around her nose and cheeks. Max's lips were neither thin nor full, but at least they were curved rather evenly. Max thought that her eyes were too small and too close together. Ears and forehead were covered by brown hair. It had chin length and a right side part, straight and dull. The fringe was flat from the water. Max have had this hairstyle ever since she could remember - if that was considered a hairstyle at all. It was handy and low-maintenance and it fitted the slim shape of her head.  
Max turned her face to the left and then to the right. She didn't even have something like a best side. She wasn't ugly, but she didn't find herself pretty, either. She didn't have gold blonde hair like Victoria or great curves like Dana or a slack style like Chloe. She was just Max Caulfield. An averagely average girl with an instant camera.  
Max remembered Kate's words. Mr. Jefferson saw something special in her and what not. Yeah sure! Actually, she didn't even have a defined photography style. Sometimes she snapped a photo of herself, sometimes of animals, sometimes of a funny graffiti slogan she saw on a wall. _Always take the shot_. Well, at least she tried.

In Mrs. Hoida's literature class, Max could focus just as little as in Ms. Grant's science lesson the day before. Mr. Jefferson passing by the window during the class - his hands nonchalantly in his trousers pockets, his steps long and hurried - didn't make it a bit better. He didn't look over, but Max called up his clear-cut face with those pervasive eyes in her mind's eye. This glance he always darted at her...  
Max shook her head in disbelief of herself. _Stop being mad, girl!_ Mrs. Hoida declaimed poems with her melodious voice, but Max didn't catch any of it. She was a fan of manly, velvety voices...

Later that day, Max had lunch with Kate. They sat in the as always utterly crowded canteen and tried to make conversation without having to raise their voices too much.  
"Are you okay?", Kate asked between two bites of her sandwich. Max picked listless at her pasta bake. Her stomach was growling, but she didn't have much appetite.  
"Yeah sure, why not?", Max asked back without looking up.  
"You barely touch your food. You look depressed. And your eye circles are impressive, too."  
Max put a noodle in her mouth and chewed away on it slowly. She didn't want to rebuff Kate again, but she didn't want to bellyache about herself being way too untalented to ever receive Mark Jefferson's credit, either. But the latter was everything she wanted at the moment. She felt like a stupid little girl.  
"I'm worried about the contest", Max finally said. That wasn't a lie. She still had no idea what kind of scene she could submit.  
"Yes, Mr. Jefferson puts a lot of pressure on us", Kate agreed. "Well, he wants us to publish our work. Even though I'm more into drawing than taking photographs. I'll visit my parents this weekend and search for motives in my hometown."  
Max nodded. "It's pretty stark that we've only got like two weeks for submitting something."  
This time, Kate nodded. "I guess it's supposed to promote our creativity and spontaneity. Think less, do more. Or something."  
"But that's what causes me a headache", Max grumbled. "Especially when your teacher keeps reminding you every freaking day."  
"Yeah, he seems to be especially focused on you", Kate said casually.  
Max's fork froze mid-air. A comment like this again. Max looked across to her friend who had turned back to her sandwich already and didn't speak to the topic anymore.  
The forkful of noodles and vegetables was put back on the plate. Untouched. Max suddenly had a weak feeling in her stomach. Maybe she became ill. _Teacher-ill_ , she thought, brushing the thought aside instantly. What would Ebenezer Scrooge from "A Christmas Carol" say? Humbug!

The nature around Arcadia Bay was stunning: Wild Pacific whipped its waves on pale sand, sequoias swayed smoothly in the wind, and deer, squirrels, seagulls and whales lived their peaceful lives next to each other. The lighthouse sprung on the highest cliff above the city like a protecting guard. The centre of the coastal town, however, was anything but lovely: Many shops were abandoned, most houses were grey and drab and even Max's beloved Two Whales Diner, which she associated with so many great memories, appeared sort of shabby after all those years.  
A bit lost, Max stood in front of the restaurant's swing doors where the bus had dropped her off. She kept her Spectra ready, but she didn't see anything worth capturing. An old lady grumpily rummaged around in her purse. A young man in a suit and with a cellphone on the ear rushed down the street. A trucker exited the diner, scratching his beer belly under his stained shirt. "Got some light?", he rasped at Max's direction and put a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. Even the ciggy looked grubby.  
Max apologetically shook her head. "Grmf", the trucker announced, crossed the street without looking left nor right and then put himself in the driver's seat of his red and yellow 80,000 pound vehicle. Max slowly began to move, searching for a subject, anything. Alyssa had taken a photograph of a fire-fighter holding a kitten. Evan hadn't disclosed his subject; he was always being quite mysterious about his art. But Max felt certain that he had chosen a very sophisticated photo. His inspiring examples were Robert Capa, James Nachtwey and Alfred Eisenstaedt. Evan would never settle for a run-of-the-mine photograph.  
Max strolled through the city and looked around with increasing despair. After roughly four hours she had a picture of a circa ten year old boy romping around with his dog, a picture of an old couple that had made itself comfortable on a seaside bench and a picture of a girl helping her little brother tie his shoes.  
The subjects themselves were technically good, but in the end, Max wasn't pleased with any of them. The light wasn't ideal, the angle could have been way better, the shadows disturbed the harmony. Somehow everything seemed to be staged. Nothing like catching the moment at all.  
When Max returned to the academy this evening, a rain cloud seemed to hang above her head. With every eyeing, the photographs seemed to get even worse. She couldn't submit this to Mr. Jefferson! How was she ever supposed to win him over?


	7. Chapter 7

Friday forenoon flew by. The English lesson was over in a heartbeat, just like the half-hour break. Max stared at her coffee cup. The brew was only lukewarm by now. Kate had an excursion with her choral group today, so Max sat alone on a bench in the rear corner of the canteen.  
 _Alone like the loser you are_ , she thought broody. She actually knew those depressed thoughts were absolutely childish, but somehow it did her good to wallow in self-pity. Sometimes that could be marvellous.  
Max looked at the big clock over the canteen door. Its hands proceeded relentlessly.  
 _Tick. Tock._ _  
_ _Tick. Tock._  
When it couldn't be delayed anymore, Max slid off the bank, grabbed her coffee cup and bag and went towards the Photography Lab as slowly as possible.  
She didn't want to see Mr. Jefferson today.  
Well, of course she wanted to. She could have looked at him for hours and eternally listen to his warm voice - as long as he talked about photography. But recently he talked way too often about Max. About being gifted and contests.  
Max went through the open classroom door. Mr. Jefferson stood at his desk already, his weight shifted to his right leg, the arms crossed in a cool way.  
 _Don't see me, don't see me, don't see..._  
"Max."  
 _Well, that did work out fantastic!_  
"Max, beverages are not allowed in here, you should know that by now, shouldn't you?"  
She was kind of relieved.  
She scuffed to the nearest trash can which was behind the door.  
While disposing of the half-full cup, Max watched her teacher unobtrusively askance.  
His hair was cool as ever. His black glasses with the white temples fitted perfectly on the slender nose. Like always, the teacher's shirt wasn't completely closed but the upmost two or three buttons were left open. No chest hair stuck out of the white cloth. Max bit her lip and wondered if he shaved his chest.  
When she figured out that she interestedly thought about Mark Jefferson's naked upper body she blushed and quickly went to her seat.

The class currently covered nature photography. Olivier Seydoux, Frans Lanting and Daisy Gilardini fascinated Max and made her forget the contest strain for a while. After the theoretical part of the lesson, the pupils were told to sketch different compositions in a photo size of their own choice. Of course Max drew Polaroid frames around her creations. After a while, Mr. Jefferson started his tour. He did this quite often when his mentees were told to do creative work on their own. He went through the rows and gave every student a quick feedback. As Max sat in the back corner, she commonly was the last to have her turn.  
Today as well. Mr. Jefferson worked his way from the front to the back: From Daniel DaCosta to Stella Hill, Hayden Jones and all the others. Taylor and Courtney started their stupid giggling when Mr. Jefferson reached Victoria. Max frowning watched how the blonde leaned forward and gave a coquettish laugh when the teacher said, something was a quaint idea. She pretty much hung on his every word. It wouldn't have taken much for her to go down on her knees in front of him and to exclaim: "Please marry me, Marky-Mark!"  
It somehow vexed Max that Mr. Jefferson sojourned at Victoria's desk for so long. He seemed to went over every detail of her art with a fine-tooth comb. The others didn't seem to be bothered by that. Occasionally, a girl turned around to have a look at the hot teacher, but apart from that, everyone dealt with different things than this stupid flirtation of a stupid 18-year-old who hoped for an opportunity to date or do whatever with an ace photographer.  
 _Incredibly dumb!_  
Finally, Mr. Jefferson broke away from the wannabe groupie and continued his tour.  
Alyssa hid her discontented face behind her violet hair and didn't seem to be very interested in the criticism and commendation she came by. She'd do her own thing anyways.  
Max wriggled about on her chair. Her palms became sweaty. Even though it wasn't the first time the teacher evaluated her, Max was nervous. She didn't know what was wrong with her recently. It wasn't that fangirlish excitement anymore that Max had felt during the first week just because Mark Jefferson was a freaking big name in the photography scene. This was somewhat ... different. She sweated, blushed, floundered when trying to speak. One could think that...  
Mr. Jefferson reached Max's seat. He looked at her with a friendly face before focusing on her sheet. He turned it around on the desk, making it easier for him to look at it. "Well Max, let's see what you created", he said with his calm, discreet tour voice.  
She had worked out such good words. They were all gone.  
"Well, um..."  
"You drew Polaroid frames around the pictures?" His right corner of the mouth lifted to that hemi smile everyone loved. Max's stomach did a flip. "Very original, Max!"  
He bent further forward and Max saw his naked skin where the button border of his shirt came apart. Another flip.  
"Well, I thought ... as Daisy Gilardini ... much snow ... merely and simply black and white because you-"  
Max almost said _Because you like that and do it like this as well_ , but she just turned the corner. "Because you told us about the numerous contrast possibilities between black and white last week and I thought that surely was a challenge when the subject is mainly snow." At that moment, Max wondered why one learns how to speak at all when one fails in significant moments.  
"I see", Mr. Jefferson just said. Max dwindled away in her chair while her teacher continued looking over the sheet. Finally he seemed to have looked at the sketches long enough. He lifted his eyes from the sheet to Max. "It looks good. Have a little more confidence at some points. Dare to move the focus towards the things that aren't too obvious. Let something else be the centre than the centrepiece, you get me?"  
Max could only nod stiffly. Those eyes...  
"Well, nothing can go wrong at the contest then, can it?" The crooked smile once again got onto his lips that were framed by the tidily trimmed beard.  
Max didn't answer. Apparently, that displeased Mr. Jefferson. The smile remained, but his eyes seemed to darken.  
"Max, have you already done something for the contest?" His voice was quieter than before, more sternly.  
"Yes, Mr. Jefferson", Max finally managed to say. Her voice wasn't much more than a whisper.  
"Excellent!" He beamed at her. He stayed like that for a second, then he unbent, wrote down the homework for the next lesson on the blackboard and closed the lesson.  
Max frantically thought about what gave this man the power to make her feel small and vulnerable, yet kind of good at the same time. What gave him the power to not let her deliver herself out of his glimpse. She really didn't know.

When Max reached the dormitories there was new trouble waiting for her. Victoria obviously hadn't forgotten that she had a score to settle with her fellow student. She stood in front of the girls' dorms with Nathan Prescott, talking quietly, gesticulating fiercely.  
Max didn't know a lot about Nathan. He was one year ahead of Max, so they didn't have any mutual classes. For all Max had heard that was a good thing. His family effectively owned the town - including the dormitories of Blackwell Academy as a golden plate stated. Nathan was, due to his dad, more or less the boss of the Vortex Club. The parties were nearly completely organized by the Prescotts. Now and then, Nathan provided quite hard drugs for those occasions, Max had heard. Allegedly, he was mentally pretty unstable, got aggressive from time to time and had even made a teacher leave the school. He seemed to be a talented artist and photographer, but his work was said to be extremely gloomy. Max had heard of these things only from rumours, but it made her feel uncomfortable when approaching her fellow students. Unfortunately, Nathan was Victoria's best friend. The girl blatantly pointed her forefinger at Max.  
She could really use Harry Potter's invisibility cloak these days!  
"...I won't allow that to happen!", Victoria scolded as Max got within earshot. Nathan nudged his friend when he saw Max coming closer. Victoria awaited her with a nasty look. Her and Nathan blocked the way to the girls' rooms.  
Max didn't even look around. There was only this entrance. Nobody was near to help her.  
Victoria seemed to read her mind. "Watch out, hipster ho!", she began, arms crossed before her floral dress with the white Peter Pan collar. "We aren't done here. And this time that stupid punk-ass won't help you. Or can you see her around here somewhere?"  
Max sighed. She thought as an 18-year-old she was too old for nonsense like that. She was obliviously wrong. Nathan stood next to the scolding blonde like a deaf-dumb gorilla - even though he wasn't as beefy as one - , not seeming to know what to do.  
"Victoria", Max tried. No chance.  
"You suck up to Mr. Jefferson - Mark - with you analogue hipster bullshit und think it impresses him just because he knows your goddamn name?!"  
"Please, just let me pass."  
"You little slut have no clue about art! What are your parents, garbage man and clearer? I've got connections with the greatest living artist of our continent!"  
Max forced herself to remain calm. She wanted to smash Victoria's face so badly for the comment about her parents and the devaluation of other jobs than the one godlike Chases had. But she knew she didn't stand a chance against Victoria and Nathan. Both were taller than Max. Maybe she would be able to beat Victoria, but young Prescott? He was pale and looked tired, his expensive clothes and the styled light brown hair could not draw a veil over that. His blue eyes were glazed. But he surely was still way stronger than thin little Max.  
 _Inhale_.  
"Who do you think you are?!"  
 _Exhale_.  
"You will come to nothing!"  
 _Inhale_.  
"I'm so sick of your dumb 'Oh, I'm so shy and special' behaviour!"  
 _Exhale_.  
"You're so fucking ridiculous!"  
Okay.  
"Maribeth", Max said. Victoria stumbled. Max addressing her by her middle name (that Max knew from social media) bamboozled her. This time, Max didn't allow the blonde to interrupt her.  
"When I'm so damn bad at what I do and when I'm ridiculous and no one will ever notice me - then what's your problem with me? I'm no threat to you, right? And now", she asking wagged her hand, " please let me in there. I had an exhausting week."  
Victoria wanted to start squawking again, but to Max's surprise Nathan pulled her aside by the sleeve.  
"Why do you do that?", Queen Bitch hissed at her buddy.  
"Just forget about it", he murmured. The fuss seemed to make him feel awkward.  
Max slipped the two by, went to her room and bolted herself in there.  
Why did horrible people like that exist? And why did people like that always have their minions supporting their deeds?  
Max rubbed her face, laid down on her bed in jeans and t-shirt and looked at her photo wall. There she had hung up all kinds of snapshots her Spectra had taken over the years. None of them was a heroic photograph.  
Max closed her eyes.  
 _What could serve me as an inspiration? As an everyday hero? As something great, unique?_  
Max's cell phone vibrated. She got a message.  
 _Hey Mad Max, today, 5 pm, at the parking lot? Don't say no, babe, I know you want it as well..._  
And after all the exertions of this week, after all those confusing emotions surging up within Max, Chloe still managed to make her smile.

\- Hey guys, I'm not sure when the next chapter will be released as I'll be on vacation soon and after that there will be a hubbub in my job - but don't worry, I won't forget about Jefferfield. ;-) -


	8. Chapter 8

Chloe's rusty pickup truck chugged down the street.  
It was like a post-apocalyptic scene: The sun was low and bathed everything in a reddish, heavy light. The huge pines alongside the way stood there like threatening guardians and cast great dark shadows. Except for the blue-haired woman you could divine behind the wheel in the distance, there was not a soul to be seen far and wide. Not even seagulls wheeled in the sky. A tenuous misty shroud was in the air. The clattering sound of the engine cut through the silence.  
It was just too perfect. Max lifted her smartphone and took a picture. Her Spectra hung from her shoulder, faithfully as always, but she only hat two pictures left in her film. And Max wanted to keep those in case a perfect everyday hero would jump in front of her lens.

The pickup truck that had probably had a colour once (which you couldn't recognize by now) came to stand shortly next to Max. The tires squealed and it smelled like burnt rubber.  
Max got in with a strained smile. "Your driving instructor must be so proud of you", she said while getting in.  
"I also hope you have a wonderful evening, Miss Caulfield", Chloe snuffled.  
Max just huffed amused.  
"So, what misdeeds are we about to commit today?"  
"We're having a wonderful walk along the beach, Mylady. We'll collect seashells and feed seagulls and watch whales -"  
"And what are we really going to do, queen of chaos?"  
"How wary you always are", Chloe said with a spurious indignant voice. She tried to scowl, but a mischievous smile conquered her lips. She started the car.  
"You look like the devil himself", Max said.  
Chloe gave a laugh. She actually did steer the car towards the beach. But Max bet her camera that they would not collect seashells.  
"Trouble", Chloe finally said. "We'll make hella trouble."

The sea was rushing. Dark clouds hung above the ocean, and slowly and threatening they came towards the shore. The weather would probably change in the next few days.  
Max trudged behind Chloe through the moist sand. She stumbled over a piece of driftwood and cursed quietly.  
"Hey, where are you dragging me to?", she called.  
Chloe pretended not to hear a word. She'd been pulling this bullshit for ten minutes now.  
Max didn't like surprises and least of all, she liked Chloe's surprises. Because they mostly resulted in total chaos.  
Like that one time when she had the magnificent idea to savour wine. Sadly, it already dashed against opening the bottle. The upscale grape juice had been spilled all over the Price's living room carpet and the dark red stain could be seen until this very day. Or the story of the stray cat they'd smuggled into Chloe's room. Chloe wanted to surprise her cat Bongo with a little brother. After lots of clamour and even more tears the stray ended up at the animal shelter. Oh, or the story of how Chloe and Max wanted to make dinner for Max's parents and nearly torched the Caulfield's kitchen. No, no, Chloe's surprises were mostly crazy ideas.  
"Chloe!", Max called again. The wind blew her hair in her face.  
Contrary to Max's expectations, her friend actually stopped this time, turning towards her. She waited until Max had caught up with her and then slapped on her most innocent smile. Which you simply couldn't eat up from her.  
"So?", Max asked with her arms crossed, raising an eyebrow quizzically.  
"We're gonna meet someone", Chloe proclaimed.  
"Is it Rachel?" Max didn't like that thought. After a week like this she didn't want to meet a perfect woman who showed Max what she didn't have or what she wasn't being able to do.  
"No, it's not Rachel", Chloe said swiftly. A shadow seemed to flash over her face, but that was perhaps just imagination. "You remember our cave?"  
Max nodded. The "cave" was nothing more than a small protrusion in a cliff at the beach but for Max and Chloe it's always been a pirate cave where they buried treasures and brought captives.  
"That's where he's set up his camp", Chloe explained.  
Max frowned. "His camp? You mean ... like a camper? Or a tramp or something?"  
Chloe affected a laugh. She seemed to be nervous.  
"Noooooo, not a tramp. Hell, no. Not really. No, no."  
"Not real-?" "Now shut up! He's really ... he's okay."  
Even more baffled than before and really doubtful, Max continued to keep after Chloe.  
Shortly after, an RV came in sight, screening the small cave. The RV was in a bad state. The panes were covered with dirt. One headlight was shattered. The tires were placed on little wooden boards in order to keep them from sinking too deep into the sand, but the rubber was so bald already that Max wondered how the motorhome was supposed get anywhere at all.  
Chloe winked at Max, then she pulled her grey beanie over her ears and forcefully banged at the door.  
At the flick of a switch a fierce barking came from inside. It sounded like a rather big dog. Max instinctively took a step back. She loved dogs, but if it sounded like this...  
It took a while before another reaction could be heard. Someone growled. For a moment, Max thought a second dog would chime in the barking concert.  
But it seemed to be a human - the growl stopped and someone loathly said: "Pompidou, shut up, you goddamn mutt!"  
Chloe banged harder at the door. "Frank!", she shouted. "Get out!"  
Max searched through her memory for the name Frank. It somehow sounded familiar to her ... she was sure that she had heard it before. In school probably. But she couldn't really remember.  
"Who's there?", called the man named Frank, trying to be louder than his dog's barking.  
"It's me you deadhead!", Chloe shouted back. There seemed to be a rather harsh tone between those two. On the other hand - Chloe talked like this to nearly everyone.  
"Be quiet, Pompidou" the man named Frank ordered inside the RV. The barking finally stopped.  
Another half a minute passed before the door opened. The man named Frank got out.  
He wasn't far from the tramp Max had imagined earlier. She guessed he was in his mid-thirties, but he looked so wasted that you couldn't tell for sure. His mud brown hair and the unkempt beard protruded at all directions. He wore his red tanktop on the wrong side - the seams stuck out. His grey sweatpants were very low - Max embarrassedly realized the roots of his pubic hair - and were stained.  
On his feet were scratched up boots without lacing whose shoe tongues hung down. On his neck and coming from is chest, tattoos made their way up his skin. Max couldn't figure out what they depicted, but she didn't want to come closer in order to find it out.  
So that was Frank.  
He quickly closed the door behind him. For a brief moment, Max could see brown fur behind it. Frank was tall, despite his bent posture, and he seemed to even intimidate Chloe a bit. She stepped back a few steps and impatiently tapped her foot. Her arms were crossed before her chest.  
Frank barely even looked at Max. He just asked Chloe: "Who's that?"  
Chloe narrowed her eyes. "Doesn't matter who she is. No one who'd fink on you."  
 _Jesus, how will this end?_ , Max wondered. She gulped.  
"She better don't", the man growled. Then he disdainfully pointed his chin towards Chloe. "So whaddaya want here? You finally got my bucks?"  
Chloe blew a strand of hair from her face. "No", she eventually said.  
Frank took a step towards her.  
Chloe stayed where she was. "I need some more dope. Just a bit weed. You'll get your fucking money, keep calm!"  
"You better contain your tongue, punkass!", Frank snarled. "I've been waiting for the bucks for three weeks now, the maximum usually is three days! You won't even get a fucking crumb of flour before you get me every single dollar! Don't you dare show your freaking face without having the money, or there will be some huge ass trouble, missy!"  
Max's heart was pounding quickly in her chest. _Trouble. We'll make hella trouble_ , Chloe had said. She hadn't exaggerated.  
Max didn't even know what shocked her most: The fact that Chloe was so broke that she messed with guys like this, that she got dope from guys like this or that she even knew guys like this at all...  
Frank Bowers!  
That was it!  
This guy was named Frank Bowers. Max had caught Vortex-Club members talking of him before. He seemed to be a well known local drug dealer. But he surely wasn't originally from here. His dialect sounded different from the one that was spoken here and if he had been around five years earlier, Max had been aware of that. In Arcadia Bay everyone knew everything. Drawbacks of a small town.  
Chloe, in the meantime, had leaned forward belligerently. As usual she knew no limits. "Listen, Frank", she ranted, "I think you know pretty well what it's like to be broke, don't ya?"  
Frank laughed, mirthless. "Exactly, kiddo, I _know_ what it's like. What do you know? Yo mama didn't give you enough pocket money? Have you bought too many clothes this month? Didn't you turn tricks enough this month?" He sneered.  
Chloe nearly burst with anger. "You fucking shithead!", she yelled at him.  
Frank ruggedly seized her wrist.  
Max froze. That was probably the part where she was supposed to do something helpful but instead, she saw herself lying on the ground with a knife in her stomach, colouring the sand in a bright red...  
Chloe furiously glared at Frank.  
"Let go of me!", she said.  
Frank ignored her. He brought his face real close to Chloe's.  
"Listen, ho, I'll tell you this for the very last time: When I see you next time, you got the bucks. Two hundred-thirty dollars, you got me? Until then you won't be anywhere near me, won't demand anything from me or annoy me in any way possible. Or should I tell everyone about your sweet secret?" He grinned beastly. Chloe gulped.  
Max frowned. What secret?  
Frank hadn't finished. "When you come here without money - even if you're in company - I'll set my fucking dog on you. Then y'can watch how he pulls off the flesh off your lean friend's bones." For the first time he did actually look at Max. His eyes seemed to get right through her flesh and bones.  
"Leave Max out of this!", Chloe hissed.  
"Oh, Max, indeed", Frank said, narrowing his dark mean eyes.  
"Leave Chloe alone! Now!" The words came out from behind Max's lips without her being able to stop them.  
Frank's eyes got even darker. "Hello Max, nice t'meet ya", he growled. He didn't seem to like her. Well, that was mutual.  
Max couldn't move or speak anymore. Just one false word and the situation would escalate.  
Frank finally decided they've had enough of a conversation. He let got of Chloe's arm and turned to his door. Chloe stomped back to Max, fuming with rage. Frank opened the door of his RV. Then he turned around once more and said: "Tell Rachel I said hello, Chloe."  
Chloe's eyes seemed to glow in anger, but she kept her mouth shut.

"What in the hell was that?", Max finally dared to ask when the girls were back in the car, heading for the town.  
"Just Frank", Chloe said tersely.  
"Frank ... Bowers, right?"  
Chloe glanced at Max for a second. "How do you know him?"  
"I don't. I've heard of him in school. Vortex-Club."  
"Ah." Chloe nodded. "He provides those bastards pretty often."  
Max didn't say anything. She had to digest the recent incidents.  
"Don't be like me. Just ... stay away from guys like that."  
"Why didn't you stay away?"  
Chloe didn't answer. Her right hand at the steering wheel, her left elbow supported against the window, she drove towards Blackwell. She obviously wanted to get rid of Max for today. The little plastic singer on her dashboard merrily shook his hips.  
"Heard you've had trouble with Victoria and Nathan today? About Mark Jefferson?", Chloe eventually asked in the silence.  
Max leaned her head on the back of her seat and rolled her eyes.  
"This town has its eyes and ears everywhere, huh?", she moaned.  
Chloe shrugged. "Just a question."  
Max smiled faintly. "Just admit you've got spies all around campus to keep tabs on me."  
Chloe's mouth corners lifted a little. "You guessed right, baby. I just can live without ya."  
Max thought about telling Chloe about her self-doubts, but scrapped it. Instead, she told about the trouble she had almost had with Victoria and Nathan.  
Chloe frowned. "If they're about to cause trouble again, just tell me."  
Max grinned. "I don't need a babysitter. Especially not one that'll cause much more trouble than I could ever cause, you know."  
"My pleasure, sweetie", Chloe growled, but she couldn't hide her grin. "Oh and ... thanks. You know ... earlier. Didn't impress him much, but..."  
"It's okay. The two of us against the world, right?"  
"Right."

Chloe stopped in the middle of the road in front of the academy and didn't care about the angry driver behind her at all.  
"See ya", she just said.  
Max waved, closed the car door and stepped on the familiar area.  
When she went into the semi-darkness of her room, she remembered that she'd forgotten to ask about the secret Frank talked about. Whatever it was, it seemed to be bad enough to make Chloe susceptible to blackmail.  
 _I really hope she didn't screw things up!_

\- Hey guys, I'm back from the dead ;-). The stress at my workplace will continue until the end of November, so please don't be too surprised when I'm not very active during the next months. In this chapter I didn't try to give Frank a particular dialect or something, I just wanted to point out he's not from ABay. And don't worry - Mark will be back in the next chapter :-). -


	9. Chapter 9

\- I'm back. Thanks a lot for your patience and your sympathy! -

Saturday loomed gray and rainy from behind the horizon. The weather and the strain of the recent days gave Max headaches. She had an aspirin pill for breakfast and stared out of the window. First raindrops silently tapped against the glass. The Spectra came to Max's hand by itself and took a photo. It was a fantastic shot: It was focused on the drops that did a race towards the windowsill, leaving behind wet traces on the glass. On the left side of the picture, one recognized the photographer and her camera, slightly blurred, being reflected in the windowpane. Max still wore her pink pyjama top with its spaghetti straps. This spot of colour was a nice eyecatcher in the otherwise gray picture.  
Max smiled. For the first time in awhile her Spectra spat out a picture that really appealed to her. _So I'm still able to do it_ , she thought in relief. That sounded ridiculous even in her own ears, but during the last week, doubts had been preying on her mind so badly that this small success really did her heart good.

The pill took effect. Max's brain became clear, her mind quicker. In the meantime, Max decided to ask advice from Chloe about the contest. After all, the rebel had once been very successful on the academy before giving the headmaster more than just one reason to kick her out. _And maybe I can winkle this secret out that Frank talked about yesterday_ , Max thought. Even though one had to be very careful with such things in front of Chloe. When she felt offended - which happened pretty quickly - she went into her shell and didn't allow anybody to come near. If one was lucky. If one wasn't lucky she changed into attack-mode and picked a quarrel. Max really wasn't in a mood for that. So she decided wait for an opportunity and texted Chloe:  
 _Heyho, pirate P-) In 20 mins at TWD? :-)_  
She added the emojis intentionally to annoy her best friend. Chloe hated emojis.  
The answer came immediately: _Can't. R is with me. But myb this evening. Write you._  
Somewhat affronted Max noted that Chloe was pretty offhand again.  
R. Rachel. No doubt. Perfect Rachel...  
Max consulted her clock. It was shortly before 9 a.m. Nearly impossible that Chloe was already up and about at this time of the day. So when she had Rachel over it meant she had stayed over with her.  
 _For how long haven't we had a sleepover anymore? We used to do it all the time back in the days. We were up all night, made up our own adventures and had William's pancakes for breakfast._  
Instead of noshing pancakes with Max, Chloe seemed to prefer smoking weed with Rachel these days. And she didn't even get worked up over the smileys.  
The smartphone beeped in Max's hand: _And no fucking emojis!_

The warm water pelted on Max's nape. She still thought about Rachel. The beauty of this girl, paired with her self-confidence, unsettled quiet Max. The few times they've met, the older girl had worn pretty revealing clothes. She nearly had as great curves as Dana. Unsurprisingly, many boys were really into her. Moreover, she was tattooed. In a feminine way. Cool and feminine.  
 _In marked contrast to me_ , Max noted with a look at her own naked body.  
Skinny. Bony. Neither bosom nor waist nor thighs were beautifully curvy. Just skinny. Max took her small breasts in her hands and squeezed them upwards to dissemble something like a cleavage. It didn't make much difference.  
 _Well, at least I can eat till I drop without getting fat_ , Max grimly thought, releasing her breasts.  
And of course she didn't have any cool pictures on her skin. Gosh, she didn't even have earlobe piercings. Let alone other kinds of piercings or the like.  
 _Well, there's only pure Max_.

Freshly showered and dressed, Max sat in her room a bit later, checking her e-mails. As usual, weekly reminders from Max's fellow student Juliet Watson piled up, telling the reader to get the newest edition of the school newspaper, that Juliet wrote for, AT ALL COST. And one should let her know AT ALL COST when one had a hot campus story for her. From Courtney, one of the Victoria-zombies, arrived an invitation for the Halloween party at the end of the month. The mail was addressed to every student and teacher.  
The only mail Max was actually interested in came from _markjefferson blackwell-academy. com_.  
Almost thirstily, Max opened the electronic mail and read:

 _Hello, dear photography pros of tomorrow,_

 _As I haven't received many entries for the Everyday Heroes Contest yet, I'd like to invite you to an open round of talks in the Photography Lab at 1 p.m._ _  
_ _I'll make time for all of your questions._ _  
_ _Attendance voluntarily, but please note: There will be cookies._

 _Otherwise: See you on Monday._

 _Greetings,_

 _Mark Jefferson_

And suddenly, Max was very glad that Chloe had cancelled on her.

After an extensive breakfast - or rather lunch - Max strolled to the art classroom. For the first time in the recent days she was quite relaxed as she entered the classroom. The round of talks was a great idea and a good possibility for getting more inspiration.  
Mr. Jefferson sat on the edge of the teacher's desk an gave everyone who entered a friendly nod. The classroom was pretty crowded already. "Hello Max", warm Jefferson-voice said. "Great you came here as well."  
Max somehow managed to smile without turning red. "Great you give that extra lesson. It surely is helpful for all of us."  
"Yes, it's really awesome you're doing that", a voice fluted behind Max's back.  
"Thanks, Victoria", Mr. Jefferson responded and smiled at that blonde bitch just as friendly as he had smiled at Max before. Max rolled her eyes and sat down on a spare chair between Alyssa and Hayden.  
For the talk, Mr. Jefferson had put the tables aside and positioned the chairs in a half circle around the teacher's desk. On small stools there were plates with cookies. Max took one and grumpily nibbled on it.  
 _This stupid bitch, always craving for validation!_  
Max hated these negative thoughts that were flowing through her body like poison. Luckily, Mr. Jefferson started the round of talks at this very moment and managed to distract Max from the negativity. Even Victoria seemed to be genuinely interested in the professional's tips as she was eagerly writing down everything he gave his protégés to take along. Max did the same, even though most of the things didn't really apply to her. Most of the tips were meant for reflex cameras and the newest high-tech equipment. Max felt certain that if she had to participate in this contest, she'd only participate with a good old Polaroid photo.  
The student's question were all about technical details: "How do I create real sharp shadows?", "Which focal length is the best one for a portrait when I want to stress the background as well?", "Is this lens good enough for a shot from about ten metres away?"  
With growing insecurity Max wondered whether all of her fellow students already knew their objects and only needed to improve details. The photos were due coming Friday after all...  
"How do I recognize my everyday hero?", Max finally burst out. The others looked at her in a funny way. Victoria despicably twisted her upper lip. _Stupid question, you noob_ , her glare said.  
But Mr. Jefferson smiled as friendly as ever. Smiled his hemi smile.  
"Good question, Max", he answered after a brief reflection. "Of course I can't really answer that. You have to feel it. An emergency surgeon, your mother or maybe -", he threw himself into an exaggerated pose, "- a teacher?" The pupils giggled. Mr. Jefferson stood up and thoughtfully looked out of the window, then his glimpse met every single student. "'Hero' is an incredibly elastic term. Probably everyone in this room has a different idea of it. Dare it, take a photograph, don't wonder if other people would see a hero in your object. It's your object. Your contribution to the contest, to the world of photography. Every single picture is an enrichment. I want all of you to always remember that clearly." His eyes stuck to Max's. "You", he pointed at her. "you alone, Max, choose your hero. No one is in the position to cast doubts on your decision."  
Max was stunned. _He could be a motivation coach. He's so inspiring and encouraging._  
Victoria looked markedly indifferent at her nails, but except for her and her lapdoggys Courtney and Taylor everyone seemed to be on fire now. "Woah. I guess I'll think my scene over", Hayden said next to Max.

The group slowly came apart. Some students approached their teacher in order to ask remaining questions or thank him for the extra lesson. Max was one of them: "Thanks for your answer earlier. I was afraid it would be stupid to ask." She fiddled around with her sleeves and stroked her fringe off her forehead.  
"Stupid questions don't exist, Max", Mr. Jefferson meekly stated. Typical teacher's response. "So - did you choose an object yet?"  
And the questions started once more.  
"I've taken a few pictures, but - I'm not really happy with them. I think they're too unspectacular or look too staged", Max responded honestly.  
Mr. Jefferson nodded thoughtfully and rubbed his chin, professional he was. Max caught herself looking at his beautiful face, down to his broad shoulders and his torso. Hastily she stuck her eyes back to the bridge of his nose.  
"Listen, Max", Mr. Jefferson quietly said. He briefly looked to the remaining students in the room and moved closer to Max. His scent reached her nostrils. He smelled of citrus fruit and cypress. Max bit her lower lip.  
 _Oh my gosh!_ _  
_Mark Jefferson lowered his voice even more. "Max, I realized how insecure you became recently -" _Absolutely, and you are the reason for it!_ "- and I want you to keep your chin up against that insecurity. Remember what I told you about self-criticism! But as this doesn't seem to help you..." Once again he briefly looked at the other students, "...I'd offer you to have a look at some of your creations. Then we could refine you. You mustn't be your own worst enemy, Max Caulfield. You can choose some photographs and put them into my shelf in the faculty lounge, I'd get back to you betimes and give you feedback."  
 _You refining me sounds good_ , Max thought, blushing. It took a few seconds until she got the picture of what her teacher had said. Mr Jefferson would grant her - individual help?! For real?  
"But - Mr. Jefferson ... wouldn't that be ... unfair?", Max breathed big-eyed. Now she understood why he talked so quietly.  
The photographer shrugged his shoulders. "I may not be a skilled pedagogue", he admitted. "But I can't allow a future ace photographer to be beaten by her self-doubts."  
Max couldn't help but smile about the compliment, but she quickly got serious again. Her heart was literally begging for a special treatment by this man. But Max was an honest person. Fairness was really important to her. She didn't want to rely on good contacts. If she should win, then only because of her own effort. Otherwise she probably wouldn't be able to stand herself anymore. The others tried hard as well. Even Victoria. And if there was one thing Max didn't want to be, it was being worse or more dishonest than Victoria.  
"Thanks, Mr. Jefferson", Max finally said. "But I guess I have to deal with it on my own. I wanna play fair." She was perplexed of how strong-willed her own voice sounded.  
Mark Jefferson arched his eyebrows. "All right", he said. "That's very honourable of you. But remember: Don't let insecurity win. And my offer still holds. Let's say until Tuesday. Think about it, Max." Then he turned to another student. Max stood in the room, kinda lost, clutching her bag. Then she turned and padded out of the classroom.

\- Concerning the "Max is pure" comment I want to add that of course I'm not against piercings or tattoos (I'm pretty tatted myself ;-) ). Apart from that: Good to be back, even though I'm completely out of practice. :-D -


	10. Chapter 10

\- Chloe -

Chloe barely noticed that Rachel was in her room - she must have gotten in the house through the open patio door - when her top was being pulled over her head and her bra was being ripped off.  
"Woah, Rachel", the punk began, but her girlfriend pressed her ripe lips against Chloe's and thus swallowed the protest up. Not that Chloe really wanted to protest. Rach's lips were way too sweet, her skin way to soft and her body way too sexy for being able to resist her. Chloe grinned while kissing. She broke away from the hug a bit. Rachel's eyes flashed impatiently. Chloe knew that look: Rach wanted it here and now, right away! Chloe had fun tormenting her a bit.  
"You obviously missed me, huh, moppet?"  
"Got that right. I'm so starved!"  
"Speaking of starved", Chloe said and pretended to thoughtfully put a finger against her chin. "I am as well. We should got get us some pizza. Or eat something at the Two Whales. Or..."  
With an impatient sound, Rachel pushed laughing Chloe on the bed und sat upon her. Chloe was still laughing. Her girlfriend was about ten centimetres smaller than her and nowhere near her strength. It was easy for Chloe to seize Rachel at her wrists, lift her a bit und push her, facing backwards, on the mattress.  
"I am the boss for now", Chloe decided. She pulled Rachel's dark green shirt up und freed her well-shaped breasts from the white lace bra while Rachel got completely rid of her shirt.  
"So impatient today", Chloe murmured while her lips gently traced along Rachel's neck. Her right hand took care of the well-shaped bosoms.  
Rach groaned quietly. "Lower", she sighed.  
Chloe brought her face close to Rachel's.  
"What was that?" She kissed hr gently.  
"Lower!"  
The kiss became more demanding; Rachel sucked at Chloe's bottom lip.  
"Whatever you want, Sweetie."  
Chloe's tip of the tongue traced along Rachel's crook of the neck, the gap between her breasts, briefly moved to the left and the right to nibble on the pink nipples and then came back to the centre of the body.  
The lower Chloe got, the more Rachel dug her fingers into the pillows. In the meantime, Chloe approached the belly button. Rachel hated being touched there during sex, so Chloe just nudged the sparkling piercing briefly - today it was a butterfly - and let her mouth go lower until she reached the waistband of the light trousers.  
"Go on", the muffled voice pleaded from under the pillow.  
And that's what Chloe did. She unbuttoned the jeans with relish, opened the zipper und pulled the waistband down. Lustfully, Rachel lifted her hot butt in order to make it easier for her girlfriend to take off her clothes. Within a second, the jeans was on the floor, together with all the other clothes that collected there since last laundry day.  
Rachel's butt was still lifted, waiting. The pink panty with the white lace at the top literally begged for being torn off by Chloe, but she contained herself and pulled the piece of cloth down without destroying it.  
Chloe took a second to enjoy the sight in front of her: Rachel lay there, completely naked. Herr nipples were erected, she had goosebumps all over her body. The soft breasts were trembling with Rachel's aroused breath. Her genital area was neatly shaved.  
Chloe lay Rachel's right leg over her own naked shoulder. The leg with the sexy dragon tattoo. The punk kissed the dragon's tail, then his hissing jaws, and continued wandering up the leg. Rachel scented so damn good! Always of cinnamon. Tangy and sweet at the same time. With her forefinger, Chloe slid between Rachel's labia. Dammit, she was wet! Her finger slipped in her wetness. Another groan came from under the pillow. Chloe put Rachel's clit between her lips and sucked on it. Rachel's thighs tensed. Her hand seized Chloe's blue mane and forced her even closer. Chloe slipped a second finger into her. Rachel's inside tensed up. It wouldn't take long today. Chloe brought her thumb into action. She rubbed and sucked at once. That drove Rachel over the edge every time.  
She dug her nails into her girlfriends hair so tightly, one could think she wanted to scalp her. Her thighs pressed against Chloe's ears from the right and the left. The groaning was all muffled now. Rachel fiercely twitched two or three times, her groaning got more and more high-pitched and then got lost in ecstasy, before she remained lying down, exhausted.  
Chloe sat up and made her neck creak. "Dude, someday you'll kill me with your thighs", she said.  
Rachel's head peeped out of the pillows with unkempt hair and red cheeks. "And ... wouldn't you ... wanna die ... in exactly that way?", she gasped, grinning.  
"Probably yes, moppet", Chloe admitted and ran her fingers through her dyed hair. "And now?"  
Rachel sat up. Her nipples were still erect.  
"Now it's your turn, I guess." And she pushed Chloe on the sheets.  
 _That's gonna be hella fun!_

Rachel lay with her head on Chloe's non-tattooed arm. "Move it over to me", she demanded with her eyes closed and raised her hand. Chloe gave her the cigarette she had just lit. Then she loosened her arm and got up. "Gotta text Max. She wanted to meet today."  
Rachel made a grumpy sound. "But I wanna spend the evening with you", she whimpered.  
"But she asked me before you did", Chloe said simply while getting dressed. "To be exact", she turned to face her girlfriend, "you didn't ask me at all if we wanna meet. You just stood in my room all of a sudden."  
"As if you didn't like it", Rachel grumbled, partly affronted, partly amused.  
"Never said that, Barbie", Chloe replied and put a dark blue beanie on.  
"I gave that to you", Rachel murmured sleepy.  
"I know. Back when I still thought we were just friends." She smiled mischievously. "Boy, I was hella wrong."  
She typed on her cell phone.

 _In 1 hour at the lighthouse?_

The answer came immediately: _Make it 2 hours, then I'll b there._

 _Aye aye._

"You'll have to make off in two hours, Sweetie, I have a date with another woman", Chloe let her girlfriend know.  
"Ha-ha", Rachel said and took a deep drag from the cigarette. "Max?", she asked.  
"Yup", Chloe answered, hoping not to have prompted another scene caused by jealousy. But she seemed to have had it off with her well enough to sideline Rachel for the moment.  
"Okay", the blonde just said. "Greetings from m- ah, never mind, you'll forget it anyways."  
Chloe laughed. "Dammit, you know me too well", she said. She looked at the beautiful young woman on her bed for a while and said: "Ya know what? Changed my mind, you don't have to make it off. Just wait for me, be good until I'm back and we'll repeat that hot stuff." Chloe went over to the bed, took the cigarette off Rachel's hands and stubbed it out. "Deal?"  
Rach smiled sleepily. "We'll see."  
That meant Yes.

\- Max -

When Max left her room, it wasn't raining, but the sky was coloured like anthracite. As soon as Max sat in the bus that brought her towards the town limit, it began spitting again. _Why didn't I take an umbrella with me?_ , Max wondered sullenly. From the final stop she still had to walk twenty minutes before reaching the lighthouse. In her mind, she heard her father's voice: _"If you knew that you hadn't showered this morning, right pet?"_ Max smiled. These lame dad-jokes ... She somehow missed them. But she had so much to do and so much to experience at Blackwell, she barely had time to feel homesick.  
 _Well, why should I? Basically I_ am _home._

When the bus reached the final stop, it rained more heavily. Max couldn't do anything but slip the hood of her gray sweater on before dismounting. She was the last passenger and the moustached bus driver nodded to her friendly. Max nodded back, held in her shoulders and stepped outside.  
Back in the days, her and Chloe had been out here more or less every day. Either here or at the beach. The sidewalk ended shortly behind the bus stop. Then there was just the straight road that led into the next city after roughly nine miles. On both sides of the road was thick forest.  
Max faced away from the road and followed a non-concreted path. The locals called it "the Bigfoot-Trail" because the mysterious creature was said to walk abroad here and even in the 21st century, this was a superb way to attract tourists. Plus the path was ideal for a short hike: The forest around it was thin enough for loads of beautiful flowers to be able to grow there and there were often squirrels, rabbits and sometimes even foxes and does crossing the path. Having reached the top of the cliff, one had a stunning view over the sea and the town that didn't seem to be as shabby from up there.  
In the past, when the lighthouse could still be visited from the inside, there was even more going on here. Nearly too much. Right now, Max had the trail for herself. _Wonder why_ , she thought while pulling her former white sneaker out of a muddy puddle. The rain had gotten even heavier and didn't seem to be willing to stop anytime soon.  
When Max had nearly reached the lighthouse, she heard "Maaaaaaaax" behind her and a second later, Chloe was next to her. She must have run quite fast and now she stood there, bent-forward, supporting herself with her hands against her knees, wheezing heavily.  
"Are you dying or you doing fine?", Max asked, tilting her head questioningly to the side.  
"Somehow - that wasn't - as bold - when we were kids", Chloe ejaculated and got finally upright.  
"Or maybe back then you simply didn't have a smoker's lung", Max said innocently.  
"Don't talk shit", Chloe replied amiably.

Having reached the top of the cliff, the two of them sat down on a bench at the observation point, using the backrest for sitting and the seating surface as footrest. Their shoes left muddy imprints on the bench. "Your shoes look hella gross", Chloe commented with a look at Max's sneakers, that were anything but white by now.  
"Yup", Max said grimly, "and I really don't know why we didn't meet in a building. Crazy suggestion, but what about your home?"  
"Nah, my step-fuehrer's sitting around there."  
"Isn't he always at that time of the day?"  
Chloe didn't answer and instead tried to light a cigarette. But it seemed the packet had gotten wet and its content just wouldn't get lit. Sighing, Chloe dumped the ciggies. "Those were fucking expensive", she murmured.  
Max rolled her eyes. "Stop whining over that stuff and start helping me. We have to participate in the 'Everyday Heroes'-contest, a talent compet-" "Talent competition for young artists, I know", Chloe completed the sentence. "The competition has a different name each year as the topic always changes, but it is the one where the winners get an exhibition in the Zeitgeist Gallery, right?"  
Max nodded.  
"Great chance", Chloe said.  
"Did you participate?"  
"Nope. Got kicked out shortly before the contribution." Chloe grinned wryly, but Max knew it still preyed on her friend's mind. "So this year you're supposed to snap everyday heroes? How original." Max couldn't quite figure out whether or not that was meant ironically.  
"Exactly", she said. "And I just can't think of a subject." She told Chloe about her previous tries of catching the perfect moment and how it was never good enough. But she didn't say anything about Mark Jefferson's offer. Chloe would just have said something stupid.  
"Why are you even thinking about the subject, hippie? Why do ya have such a hella cool friend? _I_ am your perfect subject!", Chloe exclaimed, did a silly pose, made a duckface and pushed her cleavage up with her arms.  
That was not the kind of help that Max had hoped for. Maybe she was oversensitive, but the stressful week and the bloody weather didn't quite grant her good mood. She didn't need her friend's fooling around on top of that. Max was annoyed. "You're not much use to me", she grumbled. Chloe darted a glance at her. "Are we a little upset because of our artistic depression?", she asked with an exaggerated concerned voice. With her normal voice she said: "Don't ya take this a little too seriously?"  
Max opened her mouth indignantly. Sometimes Chloe was just so obnoxious! "Too seriously? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know I have to ask for helpful hints concerning motivation from someone who got kicked out of the Academy!"  
The rain ran over both girls' faces and trickled off into their collars. Max felt her wet shirt under her sweater. Gross feeling. Nearly as gross as Chloe's waspish expression. Somehow, Max went too far. It had just bursted out of her. This fucking week...  
Before she could say something peaceable, Chloe suddenly started shouting: "Got kicked out of the Academy? Tell me more about how well you'd do in school when your dad suddenly died, you had a fucking shitty step-father plonked in front of you and your best friend just PISSED OFF!" Yes, Chloe was rather choleric, but it took quite a lot to actually make her shout at somebody. Max was thunderstruck. She didn't say anything for a few seconds, then she thought about what she had just heard und stared into Chloe's furious eyes. Then the anger ascended in her like glowing lava.  
"Piss off?! You know very well that I didn't leave voluntarily! I miss William every day! Plus" - she wrinkled her nose disdainfully, feeling like Victoria Chase doing so - "you have found a replacement for me anyways. With that perfect, oh so great Rachel!"  
Now Chloe jumped to her feet. "Yes, Rachel is pretty perfect, you're right", she riled. "She was there for me when you pissed off. But listen, Max Caulfield: She is not a replacement for you. She is more."  
That hit home.  
Now Max slid off the bench as well and took a deep breath in order to reply something, but in that moment, Chloe blurted out: "She is my girlfriend. I'm with her. And you will not badmouth her without even really knowing her, just because you are such a poor, shy girl with zero confidence!"  
Whatever Max had planned on saying, it disappeared somewhere between her brain and her mouth. Her first thought was: "Huh?", her second one: "She's more than me?" and her third one: "Lesbian?!" Have Chloe really just had her coming out in front of Max? Did that just happen?  
Max' mouth was still open. A raindrop flowed over her bottom lip. Stroppy, Max wiped it away.  
She was totally overchallenged. Actually, she wanted to hug Chloe, apologize for all the mean things, asked her everything about Rachel - _lesbian_ \- but for some reason, she got even angrier.  
"And you didn't bother to tell me about this?", Max asked. "I'm your best friend." Saying so somehow sounded ridiculous. As if they still were small kids.  
"Don't think it's all that easy, best friend", Chloe hissed. She nearly spitted out the words "best friend". Her eyes shot thunderbolts at Max.  
Max slowly shook her head. Wet strands of hair stuck in her face. She had to get away from here. She turned around and went back on the trail as fast as possible without running.  
She didn't look back and Chloe didn't follow her.

When Max was back at the road, she was soaking wet. Her sweater wasn't light but dark gray. With every step, water squeezed out of her completely dirty, ankle high shoes. Max's jeans felt like an old chewing gum, sticking unpleasantly wet to her skin. Even her t-shirt and bra were wet. Max snivelled. Only now she realized that, besides the rain, there were also tears running from her eyes. A lump of concentrated disappointment narrowed her chest. _Best friends forever._ Meh.  
The road was in sight. In Max's mind the talk repeated itself over and over again. Max had said some pretty mean things. But Chloe could be such an asshole!  
Max grimly stared down at the blacktop under her feet. _She can go jump in the lake!_ Her heart tensed up. Part of her wanted to get back to Chloe at all costs and make it up with her. But there was another part in Max Caulfield that many underestimated or didn't get to know at all: She could be pretty stubborn. She would not beg Chloe's forgiveness just because Chloe always thought the whole world plotted against her. Max came past the bus stop, but she knew there were no more busses on weekends at that time of the day. So she walked along the road and hoped to reach Blackwell safely. It got dark. Max felt uneasy being that close to the road, but she had to follow it for nearly two more miles before reaching the town.  
She heard a car approaching from behind and shuddered. When she was a kid she had a horror of being kidnapped. Chloe had always made fun of her because of hat. _"Who would ever kidnap you, idiot?"_  
The headlights threw their light cone on Max who tried to keep walking unwaveringly. The car slowed down. Or was it just her imagination? No, it definitely slowed down!  
Max clenched her fists in the pockets of her sweater and tried not to freak out. A black car came into her focus. For a brief moment, the girl thought it was a class mate who wanted to prank her. But nobody had such a precious ride, not even one of the rich kids.  
The car slowed down even more and went at walking pace next to Max. She slugged down the thick lump in her throat and turned her face towards the car. The windowpanes were blacked-out, she couldn't recognize the driver.  
The window on the passenger side was being rolled down and Mark Jefferson called: "Max, what the heck are you doing out there? Come on, get in!"

\- I was like: "Well, haven't posted anything in like two months", but no, it was FIVE months! Ooooops... :-D-


	11. Chapter 11

-Small declaration ahead: I was so happy to hear there'll be a prequel to LiS and I can't wait to return into the new old world. For those who don't know it yet: "Before the Storm" will tell the story of Chloe and Rachel, which I try as well in my AU. But I'll try to "avoid" the new game in order not to influence my image of the characters. So if the characters in the game will develop completely different from what I write in my story, please note: "Before the Storm" does storywise not belong (or at least not necessarily) to my LiS-AU.-

Max froze like a doe in the headlight. She stared at her teacher's face for two seconds without being able to move. A cold raindrop had sneaked into her sweat jacket and was now trickling down her back unpleasantly cold.  
"Come on, get in, I won't bite", Mr. Jefferson called through the pelting rain. He leaned from the driver's seat over the center console and pushed the passenger door open. Then he raised one eyebrow, inviting.  
Max awakened from her rigor and flopped into the seat before rashly closing the door. It had already started to rain inside the car.  
"Good evening, Max", Mr. Jefferson's velvety voice said as the car started. The windowpane next to Max rolled up with a zooming. _Alone with Mr. Jefferson in his dark car with the smoked windows_ , Max thought. Her heart was beating heavily, and not only because she had walked so quickly before.  
"What does a young lady do alone at the main road in the evening?", Mr. Jefferson wanted to know.  
 _Lady?_  
"I - I wasn't alone. I met someone. A friend. I met a friend." Max couldn't find any words. "And now - I - the rain caught me off-guard. The bus - there are no more busses today. The bus to Blackwell."  
 _As if my brain had the blue screen of death. Great._  
"And your friend couldn't give you a ride?", Mr. Jefferson asked. Max shook her head, then she realized her teacher was focused on the street and she murmured: "No."  
"Ho-hum", the photographer just said. Then: "I left some documents in the teacher's lounge. I have to get back to the Academy anyways. I'll drop you off there."  
"Thanks", Max said shyly. Then there was silence. Mr. Jefferson drove in a focused, yet not fraught manner. His back touched the upright seat, the strong yet filigree fingers of his left hand encompassed the steering wheel, his right hand lay softly on the gear shift.  
Max realized how well manicured her teacher's hands were. The nails were neatly clipped, no dirt was under them. He had a plain mole on the knuckle of his right little finger. Max would have loved nothing better than to stroke over it. She forced herself to look ahead again.

Outside, in the meantime, it looked like doomsday had come. Mr. Jefferson adjusted the windshield wiper to the highest speed and laid off the gas pedal a bit. The sky gave everything it got. One could only see a few metres through the torrents pouring from the clouds. Mark Jefferson didn't seem to be very impressed by the weather. He steered his vehicle as confidently as a captain, who has been at sea for twenty years, steers his ship. But the loud pelting of the rain didn't make the awkward silence any more bearable.  
Max realized how her eyes had wandered to Mr. Jefferson and were now stuck to his face. With a big amount of willpower she detached them from him. She dug her fingers into her knees and looked unflashy around the car. The dashboard was made of shiny, reddish wood. There was no car air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror (in fact it smelled, just like Mr. Jefferson himself, like citrus and cypresses), no plush dices nor a pair of child's shoes - such kitsch wouldn't fit the plain, elegant style of Mr. Jefferson. There were no frills in the vehicle at all. No lose coins, trolley tokens or gas station vouchers, no charging cables or CDs. The complete contrast to Chloe's car...!  
 _Chloe!_  
The thought of this silly cow made Max sigh quietly. Hopefully she'd get home safely despite this horrible weather. Her style of driving was rather hazardous even when there was clear sight and a dry lane.  
The town limit came in sight. Jefferson had not said a word yet. Max didn't quite know if she should be thankful for that or if the silence made everything even more uncomfortable. From the corner of her eyes she saw his serious mien. Goddammit, he could be so intimidating!  
Usually not a trait that she really liked. But instead of being annoyed or angry, she just felt this traction in the center of her body.

They passed the sign that welcomed arriving people in Arcadia Bay. The Academy wasn't too far away anymore. Max was relieved, yet somehow disappointed. Back when she received the approval for her scholarship, she imagined for days and nights how it would be talking to ace photographer Mark Jefferson for hours about their favourite topic and maybe even impress him with her knowledge. She knew from the beginning how naive that thought was.  
And now, being actually alone with him and having the opportunity to say something witty, her tongue lay in her mouth, as useless as a dead slug, and her brain was chronically empty like Chloe's wallet.  
As if he had read her mind, Mark Jefferson suddenly said: "Have you already thought about my offer?"  
She should have known that he'd get back to that topic again. She just couldn't get away from him.  
"You are pretty persistent", Max said with an insecure grin.  
Mr. Jefferson didn't smile. His dark eyes flashed behind the lenses. His left hand gripped the steering wheel firmer. Max lost her grin.  
"You know why, Max." His voice sounded calm and low-pitched, somehow threatening, like a stalking predator. Max nervously stroked her fringe off her forehead.  
"Do you really think I'm that talented?", she quietly asked. "I mean, there are Evan and Victoria and..." She sighed. "I just don't think the art world needs a Caulfield", she confessed. It sounded like she was fishing for compliments, but it was exactly what she thought. And she knew that Mr. Jefferson was aware of that as well. But he remained silent.  
In the meantime they had reached Blackwell. Mr. Jefferson drove his car to the faculty parking and turned off the engine.  
Max removed her seatbelt. From this parking lot, that was on the back side of the Academy - near the teacher's lounge - she had to walk farther to her dorm room than from the student's parking. Outside, a lightning pierced through the dark clouds. Two seconds later a thunderclap followed.  
 _Oh great. But if I'm struck by lightning, at least he won't bother me with that contest anymore._  
"Well ... thank you for giving me a ride, Mr. Jefferson", Max said, putting her hand on the door handle.  
"Wait, Max." Again, this was no request.  
 _Yes, Sir!_  
"You won't leave before we talked about your entry."  
The girl felt heat ascending in her. She turned to look at the handsome man next to her.  
Mark Jefferson had his seatbelt removed as well, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. He twisted the glasses briefly between his hands before putting it back on again.  
"Why don't you see how talented you are?"  
Max knew no answer to that. She mainly didn't know an answer because she looked at the movement of his muscles under the white shirt with great interest and now she imagined how this fantastic photographer was standing in the drenching rain with a soaking wet, see-through top.  
"Max? Max, did you even listen to me?"  
His voice brought her back into the precious vehicle. She went red and plucked at her fringe. Why did her body always have to stab her in the back?  
"Y-yeeees?"  
He watched her thoughtfully. Those brown eyes once again had a lock on her.  
"Where are you with your thoughts again?", he asked with a quiet, throaty voice, tilting his head to the side.  
 _You wouldn't wanna know!_  
Mr. Jefferson sighed again and averted his gaze. There was silence in the car for a few seconds, then he said: "When I was a bit younger than you, about fifteen years old, I was horribly shy. Probably even more than you are."  
Max frowned. What? She couldn't imagine that Mark Jefferson had ever been shy.  
He kept on talking: "I loved photography and dreamt of reaching what I've got today. But if my former mentor didn't discover me serendipitously and pushed me towards the right direction, I maybe had become a gardener like my father. Or an accountant or a caterer, who knows. Maybe not a bad life, but never what I really wanted."  
He turned back to Max who listened to him, her mouth slightly open.  
"I decided to give lessons in order to find rough diamonds and urge them out of their shell if necessary. Max, you're a dreamer, you've got this shy innocence -"  
 _Shy innocence?_  
"- and you shall keep it -"  
 _What? Excuse me? Was that a compliment?_  
"- but not in a way that hinders you from doing what you love. And you do love photography, don't you?"  
That was a question Max immediately knew the answer to: "Yes", she confirmed and nodded.  
"Then I don't know what your problem is. You've got talent, Max. Forget the others. Your role models and fellow students. You're not them and that's a good thing."  
 _Was that a compliment as well?_  
Mark Jefferson lifted his hand and stretched his forefinger in Max's direction. "You must get your doubts out of here", he said, leaning slightly forward and tapped his student softly against the forehead twice. This tiny touch caused warm waves inside her, that, on their way through her body, made her heart race, her stomach flutter and her knees shake.  
 _More of it, please.  
_ But Mark Jefferson already leant back again and now looked stricter than ever. Max could see how small furrows settled on his forehead as he frowned. She bit her lower lip.  
"Maxine Caulfield", his voice demanded with an unusual acerbity, "I will now walk you to the dorm rooms. Until then you have time to think about five pictures you give me for analysing. I'll wait ten minutes in front of the dormitories. If you think that you don't have to hand me any photos, I will not give you any more feedback except for graded test."  
Max's jaw dropped open. This unfair, arrogant prick! Who did he think he was? And he had called her Maxine. Nobody called her like that! The bubble was burst. Max was angry.  
"Are you serious?", she finally managed to say. _Are you cereal?_ , her mind repeated.  
Mr. Jefferson lifted one corner of his mouth to that hemi smirk, his eyes had a challenging expression. The answer was obviously Yes.  
"It doesn't seem to work any other way, Max."  
"Wowser", she murmured.  
Mr. Jefferson lifted his eyebrow. Why did she again have the urge to immediately obey him? What was that thing with his natural authority? That wasn't the kind of authority that other teachers had.  
Before she could protest against it, Mr. Jefferson pulled a huge umbrella from behind her seat. Then he got gracefully out of the car, opened the umbrella and walked over to Max's side of the car to open her door. She had no other choice but to stand close to him under the black umbrella and to pad through the drenching rain that flooded the asphalt with little rapids. Her mud-shoes splashed through the puddles. Her teacher wasn't spared from the water either. His white shirt had some wet parts now, but Max, frantically wondering which photos to give him, didn't see any of this. It felt like eating humble pie.  
 _The picture of Dad and me on the Space Needle? No, too touristy, plus not taken by me. The flower photo from Volunteer Park in Seattle? No, that has nothing to do with "Everyday Hero" at all! It should fit the topic at least a bit! Damn it, damn it!_  
They approached the dormitories.  
"I'll wait here", Mr. Jefferson announced and stopped under the canopy of the boys' rooms. He gave Max his umbrella and a smile that might be encouraging and made her heart skip.  
The raindrops ran like pearls on a string from the umbrella. Max entered the now dark hallway of the girls' dormitory and nearly slipped with her wet, dirty shoes on the linoleum covered floor. Inelegantly, she waddled to her room, took - after a short hesitation - three Polaroids from her photo wall and two from a folder on her shelf and crammed them into an envelope. She paused for a second, went to her desk, where her newer work was, and took a sixth photograph. After that, she went back outside where Mr. Jefferson waited patiently. With shaky legs, she approached him. Despite the raw weather, she felt rather warm at the sight of his figure.  
When Max reached him, he was still showing his encouraging smile. Thoroughly a proud teacher that had made an F-student an A-student.  
The brunette took one last deep breath, then she gave her mentor the envelope. He did not check the inside or fumbled on it to see if it had any content - he obviously knew what effect he and his intimidating manner and not least his threat had on his student. He put the envelope in the breast pocket of his shirt, tapped it contentedly and said: "Well done, Max." His accents were now peaceable, understanding. "I know, it's no easy step to take. Believe me. But remember what I always tell you: The only thing that separates the artist from the amateur is the step into public. You're not made for being an amateur. You're a champion, Max Caulfield."  
Through the rain and thunder Max nearly thought she heard her teacher say "my champion", but that was just her imagination for sure.  
 _Good to know that, besides my ability to speak, my ears are played out as well._  
Still, she couldn't help but smile. Such words from this man ... she twisted her fringe between her fingers.  
A loud thunderclap led Mr. Jefferson's look from his student to the sky.  
"I guess", he said, "the weather won't get any better. I should go fetch my documents quickly and get home before the street will be flooded or something." Then he looked back at Max. "I'll contact you via e-mail concerning the pictures. Then we can talk about them calmly. Maybe even tomorrow, if you are free, or on Monday after your classes", he let her know. Max could just nod.  
"Oh, and Max?"  
"Yes, Mr. Jefferson?"  
"No matter what you decide to do concerning the contest -"  
 _So I do have a choice now?_  
"- you can be proud of yourself." He tapped against his breast pocket again, where the photos in the envelope waited to be looked at by him.  
 _Now or never!_  
"Mr. Jefferson, I don't want to occupy too much of your time or something -"  
"Max...!"  
"Um, well, so ... I've got another photo. I'm not quite sure whether it fits in the row, but ... here you are." And before she could change her mind she took the last photograph which she hadn't put into the envelope, and held it out to Mark Jefferson.  
He recognized the subject an smiled even more. It was the selfie she had taken during his class the other day. He lifted his hand to take it. But he didn't only take the photograph.  
He took Max's hand.  
His hands were cold - unsurprisingly with that bloody weather - but Max didn't even realize it. Within the split of a second, all the blood from her body went into her head. She didn't manage to look at him, but she could see his smile in her mind. This proud smile. He was proud of her and he held her hand.  
Max swore that in that moment, her heart stopped for a few seconds.  
Jefferson's thumb stroked over Max's, once, twice.  
"Great, Max. The art world will be thankful for this", the teacher said. Then he drew his hand back, along with the picture. When Max's heart finally returned to duty, it was racing as if it had to catch up on the last few beats.  
Mr. Jefferson had turned around and diverged from the dormitories. "Good night, Max", he called when he was already a few metres away, without turning around. How did he know she was still standing there, staring after him like a total moron?  
"Good ... night ... Mr. ... Jefferson", she stuttered in a low voice.


	12. Chapter 12

-Hey guys, this would have been uploaded two weeks earlier, but I was on vacation and there was like zero internet. But there's a message for you waiting at the end of this chapter :-)-

Mark Jefferson sat at a desk in an - apart from that desk and chair - empty room. The desk lamp was just a faint glow in the dark. Outside, lightning, rain and thunder scudded across the sky.  
The photographer's hair was ruffled. He seemed to be tired. His shirt was open. A slender, muscular body could be seen.  
Tired Mark Jefferson took a sip of a whiskey glass before turning to a small stack of photographs. They were all taken by Max Caulfield. The exceptional talent Max Caulfield  
This exceptional talent suddenly stood in the room. She approached the desk. Mark Jefferson looked up, smiled his semi smile and said something. But at that moment, it thundered again, so she didn't hear what he was talking about.  
"Excuse me?", Max Caulfield called, but her voice got lost in the thunderstorm as well.  
But Mark Jefferson only shook his head with a strict look on his face.  
"Please, I couldn't hear you", May tried again.  
Instead of an answer, the teacher started pulling off his shirt.  
"Mr. Jeff-"

Max opened her eyes.  
For half a second, she was confused. Lampions were dangling above her head. She was lying in her bed. Bit by bit it dawned on her that she must have dreamt. Well, the thunderstorm was real. Outside, the wind lashed the rain against the window and at some distance - over the sea, probably - lighting and thunder were dancing a quick waltz together.  
Drowsy, Max turned around, fumbling for her smartphone. It was twenty to seven. Max moaned.  
 _Great. On a Sunday._

She tried going back to sleep, but her eyelids sprung open every time she closed them.  
With a loathly sound, Max sat up and looked through her room. Her eyes rested on Lisa, her home plant. Max's green friend went limp. The girl really had let her slide recently.  
 _I'm a bad plant mom_ , she told herself off. That finally made Max get off her bed, slip into her soft scuffs and go to the bathrooms, a toiletry kit, a towel and a mini watering can in her hands.

The bathroom was empty. Max went to the rearmost sink and started brushing her teeth. While the bristles full of toothpaste scrubbed Max's ivories, her thoughts went back to the dream. She wondered if Mr. Jefferson's torso really looked like this...  
 _What are these fantasies about half naked teachers recently?  
_ The door opened. Victoria and Taylor flounced in.  
 _Oh great. I prefer half naked teachers over this.  
_ What annoyed Max the most was the fact that Victoria did apparently not even once look as unkempt or drowsy or tired as everyone else.  
It was seven o'clock in the morning and her hair was perfect. Her clothes flattered her slender body as if they were custom-made.  
 _They probably are...  
_ The makeup perfectly enhanced the young woman's contours. It was seven o'clock in the morning and Victoria Chase looked as neat as a pin.  
Her shadow Taylor wasn't as flawlessly dressed up, but still no comparison to Max, who stood at the sink, was without makeup, uncombed and still wearing her sleep clothes.  
One could feel the scorn between the girls.  
"Nice shirt", Victoria commented mockingly while looking at her own reflection. She would have probably retouched her makeup, but there was nothing to retouch. Taylor, a powder puff in her hand, gave a mischievous laugh.  
Max looked at herself in the mirror. She wore a baggy and faded "Hawt Dawg Man"-Shirt and light blue pyjama shorts that revealed too much of her too skinny legs.  
Victoria turned back to her reflection. She sighed a bit, as if it were a burden to look that perfect. Poor thing. Max rolled her eyes.  
"Come on, Taylor", Victoria finally commanded, "let's leave before we turn into retro wallflowers like her. Who knows if hipsterism is contagious." Taylor, who obviously hadn't finished powdering her nose yet, but still bagged her puff immediately, answered by giggling and followed Queen Bitch.  
"Weird tooth cup", Victoria said, looking at the small watering can that stood on Max's sink. "But maybe you have a point there, nerd. Even as a plant you would be less mousy."  
Max, her mouth still full of toothpaste, burned with anger as the door closed behind her peers.

Back in her room, Max's mood hadn't bettered a bit. With a grim visage she watered Lisa. Who entitled those rich, pretty, talented people to glance down at others; those, who do not have own beauticians and the best branded articles?  
This morning encounter was aggravated by the fact that Chloe hadn't gotten back in touch with Max since they've had a row with each other. And the punk wouldn't do it any time soon. She was stubborn as a mule and definitely awfully pissed. But just now, Max would have needed to vent her spleen. The girl was immediately ashamed of her egoism. _Well, hopefully that's not the only reason for wanting a reconciliation, dumbass!  
_ She looked out of the window. The thunderstorm had blown over, but the rain continued. What a joyless, melancholic day.  
Max took her guitar and tuned it. A day like this matched a song like "Mountains" by _Message to Bears_. As soon as the first few chimes sounded, the student calmed down a bit. Beside photography, music was the best therapy. Max's fingers plucked the strings, her right foot tapped on the floor in strict time. Her thoughts roamed around. She played the instrument since she was eight years old, and over the years, it had become a ruminant-like activity.  
In Max's head, the lyrics appeared.  
 _And we could run away  
Before the light of day  
You know we always could...  
_The sudden ringing of her smartphone disrupted Max from the melodiously tranquillity. Her fingers slipped to the wrong string and caused a bad sound. The harmony was gone.  
 _Chloe, maybe?  
_ Max quickly stored the guitar away and took the telephone from her nightstand. She was a bit disappointed when she saw it was a text from Warren. A link to a website where someone explained why Jar Jar Binks from "Star Wars" could be a Sith Lord.  
Max had to smile after all. Warren was at least as much of a weirdo as she was. She could philosophize about questions with him that would cause nothing but a pitying head-shaking from everyone else. Warren was the only one of Max's friends that actually reflected about whether or not Yoda could beat Son Goku or whether in a parallel universe huge ice cream cones licked on people.  
 _I hate to admit it, but Victoria made one good point_ , Max thought as she finished the article about Jar Jar Binks. _I'm a goddam nerd!_

It didn't get really light outside. Max dressed herself and had breakfast, fed Kate's bunny Alice and eventually returned to her room. All this time, depressively grey clouds accompanied her. Listlessly, Max slouched on her desk chair and surfed the web. _Beep_ went the laptop. That was the sound of an incoming e-mail. The mouse moved to the flashing tab.

 _From: markjefferson  
Subject: Photo analysis_

A second ago, Max had hung in her chair like half molten ice cream, now she immediately straightened herself. The rather chilly temperature in her room suddenly went up by 20 degrees.

 _Hello Max,  
I went through your photographs.  
Could we meet tomorrow (Monday) after your last lesson?  
I'd like to see you for coffee at the_ Golden John's _and talk about your photos.  
If I don't hear otherwise, I assume a positive answer.  
I'll wait in the café.  
Have a good weekend,  
Mark Jefferson_

Max smiled for the rest of the day.

The next morning, Max was nervous and antsy. Never before she had wished for a Monday to come and at the same time wished for it to be over already like today. The thought of meeting Mark Jefferson in a few hours - alone - even made her forget about the beef she had with Chloe.  
Before class, Max stood in front of her closet for a very long time and wondered what she should wear. She usually never did that. Frantically, she pulled t-shirts, pants and sweaters from the closet, which, after a short glance, ended up in a big pile on the little sofa behind her. Max eventually decided that she should feel as natural as possible and chose one of her favourite outfits: A light pink shirt with the white silhouette of a doe on it, a light blue pair of jeans and a grey jacket with white inner lining. As her former white sneakers were stowed away in a plastic bag since Saturday (while the girl hoped for the kicks to magically clean on their own), Max took another pair of sneakers: black with a golden pattern and white soles. Then she combed her hair, straightened her fringe, put on mascara and some light pink eye shadow and hurried to get to her first lesson on time.

After Ms. Grant's science class and Madame Sévérchy's French lesson, Max met Kate in the canteen. Even though Max's stomach seemed to jump around wildly and her cheeks had been hot all day, she managed to pull herself more or less up and chat with Kate.  
"How was your weekend?", she asked her friend as they sat down at a table.  
"Good, very good", Kate answered. She looked relaxed. "I took some photos and now I know which one I'll submit. My congregation really helped me doing it. During our mass, the church choir sang and it was such an emotional moment and then I did what Mr. Jefferson always says - I just caught the moment."  
"Great", said Max, whose stomach did a double jump upon hearing her teacher's name. Obviously, pulling herself up didn't work as well as she thought.  
"And what about you?", Kate wanted to know. "You look psyched up. And ... are you wearing make-up?"  
"Oh, I just think I've gotten over my creative trough for some reason", Max put Kate off and ignored the question about the make-up.  
Kate was too discrete to directly go into it, but she couldn't resist passing a comment: "For _some_ reason, ho-hum", she said with a roguish grin.  
"Exactly", Max confirmed, not really convincing, and wagged her fork. "What? Don't look at me like this." She wagged her fork even more and the scrambled eggs departed from it. It flew in a surprisingly high curve and got stuck on the back of Justin Williams' sweatshirt at the next table. The nice, but steadily stoned boy didn't realize it. Max and Kate stared at the sweatshirt, then they looked at each other and exploded with laughter.  
"It's good to see you this happy again", Kate said as they calmed down. Max wanted to respond something nice, but at that moment, Justin scratched his back, touched the egg and made a loud, disgusted noise. The girls got bellyache from laughing.

After lunch, photography class was due. Max walked into the classroom next to Kate, her head, it seemed to her, vibrantly red.  
 _Don't be so childish! He is a pro after all - that won't be a big deal for him today. So try and act accordingly!_  
Those were Max's thoughts. Reality, however, was a whole different story. If somebody had asked her afterwards what the topic of the lesson was, she didn't have the slightest idea.  
By the stroke of the bell, Max got up quickly, but Mr. Jefferson indicated to her with an unobtrusive gesture to come to him. With sweaty hands, she did as she was told.  
"You only have one more lesson, right, Max?"  
Nodding.  
"Fine. I'll see you then." Then, Mark Jefferson turned to his documents.

In the last class for the day, Max caught even less than in photography class, if that was possible at all. She looked at the big clock over Mrs. Hoida's head all the time.  
 _Forty-five minutes left.  
Thirty-five minutes left.  
Twenty minutes left._  
The more the hands moved forward, the more jittery Max got.  
 _What if he doesn't like my photographs? What if he changed his opinion about my "gift"? Oh my gosh, why did I even give him the selfie? He must think I'm a fangirl or a complete idiot or both!_  
When the school bell finally declared the end of the lesson, Max hastily shuffled her stuff together. She didn't even notice Warren heading for her.  
"Hey, MaxGyver, do you want to..."  
But Max was out of the door already.

The _Golden John's_ was pretty far off. It was never too busy in there and the guests were mainly old people.  
Max only knew the café because a great-great-aunt of hers had celebrated her birthday there years ago.  
When the girl arrived, her heart was beating fiercely.  
 _This is just about art. Every criticism pushes me forward._  
Max recognized Mr. Jefferson's car in the gravelled parking lot, took a deep breath and entered the café.  
It was even smaller than Max remembered it. The interior was in quite classy shades of brown and gold, the waitresses wore neat uniforms and the floor wasn't sticky.  
As guessed, the negligible customers were on average about 70 years old. The good-looking man in his late thirties, who was sitting in the rearmost booth, was a whippersnapper compared to them. Max clasped her shoulder bag, took another deep breath and approached Mark Jefferson.  
 _Leave your fringe alone, leave your fringe alone, leave your..._  
His smile was stunning as ever. "Hello again, Max", he said.  
"Hello, Mr. Jefferson", Max said and stroked the fringe from her forehead.  
 _Goddammit!_  
"Sit down." Max put her bag aside, took off her jacket and sat down across from her teacher.  
A waitress came to the table. It was a quite young woman with friendly eyes. "What would you like to order?", she asked.  
"One large coffee, please", Max said.  
"Same for me", Mr. Jefferson requested. The waitress nodded and went to the bar to process the order.  
Shortly afterwards, she returned with two steaming cups.  
Max put two lumps of sugar in her coffee. Mr. Jefferson took his one black.  
Max surreptitiously looked at him while he was appreciatively drinking the hot brew. His fingers holding the cup, his Adam's apple moving while he swallowed, his relaxed, closed eyes with the beautiful lashes.  
Max caught her breath, encompassed her own coffee cup and sipped on it. The beverage regenerated her senses and allowed her to focus on the photographs Mr. Jefferson was now spreading on the table. "Let's talk about how you stage your subjects first, then we can fine-tune the details", the photographer suggested. His student nodded silently, her hands shyly on her lap.

Bit by bit, Max relaxed. Mr. Jefferson kept avidly, but professionally on task, while he was assessing one subject after another: The portrait of Max's grandma Rosie, who looked into the sun with a happy smile. Colin, Max's three-year-old neighbourhood boy, who wore his sand bucket like a helmet. Mom Vanessa and grandma Rosie, ambling along the street, arm in arm. A group of tourists in Seattle who glanced around, wide-eyed, while their city guide pointed at something. The little girl doing up her brother's shoelaces, that Max recently took a photo of.  
Mark Jefferson said something friendly about every photograph. He offered helpful criticism, explained how spontaneity and precision could be conjoined and applauded Max's eye for detail.  
"Your photographs are about real people, real emotions, all those little things that define life", he said. "While looking at your Polaroids, I have the feeling that I'm part of the scenery. I can nearly hear, smell, see and sense what the people in your pictures experience. Max, you really have the gift of catching the right moment." And saying this, he put the last photo on the table.  
Silent and shy Max looked at her photo-self. Blue eyes, brown hair and a golden ray of light around photo-Max's right side of the head.  
"Take part in the 'Everyday-Heroes'-Contest", Mr. Jefferson gently said.  
The café door opened, some people walked in, the waitress went from table to table, but Max didn't hear nor see anything.  
Nothing but Mark Jefferson's smile, that was directed at no one but her.  
Her _asked_ her to do it. For the first time it wasn't an order but _he asked her_.  
"For the sake of art", he added, as if he had read her thoughts. "You're a champion, Max Caulfield. Show us all."

It was strange. Max was still nervous when Mr. Jefferson was around, she changed into a strawberry with every compliment, she stroked her fringe from her forehead until her fingernails left red welts on her skin.  
But still, one part of her felt totally serene. It was probably sad that she needed persuasion from a stunningly handsome ace photographer in order to have enough confidence to take part in a contest. But the praise and the constructive criticism, that really helped her along, made an ambition flash in her that she had barely ever felt before. For her, it wasn't really about winning - heavens, she wanted to keep her feet on the ground -, it was about having a certain level of aspiration.  
She was still shy, unremarkable, nerdy Max Caulfield, but she did have a talent. And she wouldn't let anyone deny this talent.  
She was on cloud nine when she took the photos that her teacher handed her back, unsuccessfully objected when Mark Jefferson paid her bill, and finally floated outside to be brought back to Blackwell by bus. 

Light-hearted, Max went to the dorm rooms and opened the door of the girls' dormitories.  
She looked down the hallway and stumbled - somebody stood in the shadow in front of her door. Her first thought was Chloe, but the build of the figure didn't match the punk. Frowning, Max approached her room.  
The shadow must have heard her. It turned around, approached her, alarmingly quickly, and stepped into the light.  
"Nathan?", it slipped out of Max's mouth.  
The boy paused closely in front of Max. Too close. Max stepped back, but Nathan followed.  
"What are you doing here?", Max wanted to know. She didn't point out to him that members of the opposite sex did have no place in here.  
"Max Caulfield", was all Nathan said. He smelled like smoke and his voice sounded raspy.  
"Yes. How do you even know me?", Max asked confused.  
"V-Victoria", Nathan mumbled.  
"Of course", Max muttered and remembered the encounter they've had a few days ago. "Victoria."  
Nathan pressed his ball of the hand against his forehead, as if he had severe headaches. He toddled.  
 _I wonder if he's drunk at that time of the day already. Or strung-out.  
_ "You don't understand", Nathan began. He visibly had difficulty finding the right words. "Victoria. She's my best friend. I won't stab her in the back."  
Max stared at the boy without understanding. She took two careful steps to the side and hoped to just get past him and into her room.  
"Sure. Fine. Nathan, you seem to be waiting for Victoria. I'm sure she will be here soon, but I really gotta go now."  
She obviously said the wrong thing. Nathan rose up, grabbed Max's upper arms and coarsely pushed her against the wall. Max was surprised and the back of her head crashed into the abrasive plaster. The sudden pain made her eyes teary for a moment. She blinked the tears away.  
Nathan's ghastly face occupied her whole visual field. "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!", he yelled at her. "I _won't_ stab her in the back, but you should not piss her off!"  
Max testily freed her arms from his grip and touched the hurting spot on her head. "Dude, are you insane?! Not piss her off? What the hell are you even talking about? _She's_ the one always harassing others!"  
Nathan furiously threw his hands in the air and literally tore his hair. "You just don't wanna get it, right, hippie?" He huffed, outraged. "She'll _destroy_ you!"  
It looked like he wanted to say more, but then he thought better of something and marched off, his fists clenched.  
Max stared after him open-mouthed.  
It seemed like Victoria sent out her strongest minion by now in order to intimidate Max.  
This goddamm...

Max tried to push this strange encounter to the back of her mind. Her head was pounding. That would become a bump. The girl needed some minutes to calm down. With her eyes closed, she recalled Mr. Jefferson's smile, his words and his touch from Saturday night. He seemed to be a muse, as shortly afterwards, Max was back in creative mode. She took her Spectra 1200i and thoughtfully looked at her tool.  
Who or what was Max's everyday hero?  
Scraps of conversation crossed her mind. Chloe's hard-hitting statement: _"just because you are such a poor, shy girl with zero confidence..."_ and Jefferson's words: _"...you've got talent, Max ... forget the others ... you're not them and that's a good thing ... you're not made for being an amateur ... you're a champion, Max Caulfield ... you can be proud of yourself..."_  
And suddenly, it was crystal clear. She attached her Spectra to her tripod and got everything in position.  
She shot. It clicked and whirred.  
Max looked at the result.  
It was the back view of herself standing in front of her photo wall and watching it. Creations, memories, the unmade bed at the bottom edge of the image - simply the life of Max Caulfield. Real and without any filters.  
She just was who she was. And that was a good thing.

This evening, Max went to bed, partly feeling confused - because of this weird thing with Nathan - but also very satisfied.  
It was not until she was nearly asleep when she realized something. She climbed out of her bed, went to her bag and searched it for something.  
It wasn't there.  
Max turned on the light and checked the bag once more, then she went through the documents on her desk and searched her drawers.  
Nothing.  
Mark Jefferson had put all of her photos back in the envelope and then had given it to her.  
But one picture was missing.  
Max reflected. Before pocketing the envelope, she had been in the restrooms briefly. And when she had returned, her teacher had just been putting something in the breast pocket of his jacket, hadn't he? She hadn't mind at that moment, but could it be...?  
Max turned off the light and went back to bed with a pounding heart. She stared at the lampions above her.  
 _Why the hell did Mr. Jefferson keep my selfie?_

The next morning, Max had her entry for the "Everyday Heroes" contest in her bag. She handed the envelope over to her teacher. The man didn't ask what it contained. He already knew.  
Mr. Jefferson smiled at her and said: "Good to see you chose the path of the champion, Max."  
With knees as soft as hot butter, Max went to her desk, ignoring Victoria's gaze that was foaming with rage, and grinned at Kate when the girl entered the classroom.  
Max felt super great. Supermax. Now she just had to make it up with Chloe and everything would be perfect.

If Max had known that within two days from that moment, her world would fall apart, she had given everything to be able to turn back time.

\- Hey guys. At this point, I want to thank you thiiiiiiiis much. This is the internet and you could anonymously drown me in hurting and inept comments and/or bash me for making mistakes (as English is not my native language). But you compliment me so often and help me with your criticism, that is always constructive, as well as with your different perspectives, so I can steadily improve what I do! You guys are all super great! :-)-


	13. Chapter 13

\- Hey dears, I hope you'll have a brilliant new year! :-) Poor Max, however, isn't exactly fine at the moment, but read just read on...-

The pale tiles beneath her - now again white - shoes reflected the light of the ceiling lamps. A single row of dark tiles disrupted the grey pattern. Max stared down at her feet. Without even noticing it, she followed the childish urge not to step on the lines between the tiles. Even though she had other problems than that right now.  
She had been doing some exercises in the Science Lab with a group of other students when the voice of Wells, the Academy's principal, declared over the loudspeakers: "Miss Caulfield, please come to my office. Miss Caulfield."  
Only when her classmates worriedly looked at Max, she realized she had just been summoned to the Principal - and a storm broke loose in her head.  
 _Something happened to my parents! - They found out Chloe and I were with a drug dealer! - It's nothing serious; Wells's voice always sounds bitter; what could possibly be wrong? - They found out Jefferson helped me with the contest! - But he hasn't! Not really..._  
The tiled floor changed into a wall and the wall into a door and Max knocked, her hand shaking.

The two days prior, Max had been full of energy. She had been very intent in class, just now and then she had scribbled hearts on notepads, and she had taken photos to a fare-thee-well. The only shadow in her head was the fight with Chloe. A dozen times, Max had typed messages into her smartphone, some of them peaceable, some of them very angry, and she had never sent them.  
 _Later_ , she always thought. And "later" was yet to come. But either Max or Chloe would fold soon, Max was sure about that. And then everything would be perfect.

But right now, this optimism was gone.  
The door was the only obstacle between Max and bad news. _Why does it have to be bad, nothing points towards it_ , a voice in her head claimed. A second, sarcastic one replied: _Yeah, sure. 'Cause Wells only sends for pupils for fun._  
Stunned, Max stood between those voices and continued to stare at the dark door. Wells called her in. With woodenly movements, Max touched the doorknob and stepped into the room. Woodenly like a puppet. _I am Pinocchio and Wells is Geppetto. I don't want to be a puppet!_ But her limbs felt stiff and clumsy, and her eyes stared at the Principal's desk with an empty expression  
A moment later, this emptiness turned into disbelief, when Max saw David Madsen, Victoria Chase and Ms. Grant next to Raymond Wells. The man and the women stood to the left of the desk, Ms. Grant with deeply saddened, Victoria with flashing and David Madsen with furious eyes.  
May tried not to mind those three people and turned to the Principal. Clumsily, he sat in his big leather armchair As always, he seemed to carry a huge burden on his shoulders.  
"Principal Wells. You wanted to talk to me", Max said. Her voice sounded uninflected.  
"Miss Caulfield, please take a seat", Wells said, pointing at the chair across from him. It somehow jibbed at Max to get into a lower position than Victoria - especially as she was smaller already - but she plunked herself into the black plastic chair.  
"So", Wells rested his elbows on his massive desk and interlaced his fingers, causing his hands to cover half of his face in which everything seemed to be shifted to the sides. For a brief moment, the headmaster reminded Max of Admiral Ackbar. But Ray Wells didn't give the student time to develop this silly thought any further. He immediately came to the point.  
"Miss Caulfield, you are suspected of owning drugs."  
At first, Max thought she'd misheard it. Then she shot up from the chair. "This is absolutely impossible!", she burst out.  
 _So it is about the thing with Chloe. Someone must have watched us when we were with Frank._ Max glanced at Victoria. _"Someone", yeah, sure._  
"Sir, with all due respect, whoever told you I had the slightest thing to do with drugs told you downright nonsense!"  
Wells deploringly grimaced. "Miss Caulfield, you don't get this straight -"  
"For real, Principal Wells. As I said - drugs and me, no! I know that many people at my age try stuff like this, but -"  
"Miss Caulfield", Wells said.  
Max kept talking like mad.  
"Mr. Wells, I beg you, I keep off things like that on principle, I am not like that, that's not what I'm like -"

"MISS CAULFIELD!"

Max winced. Never before had she heard Principal Wells yell.  
Blood was pulsing in her temples. Her hands were dripping with sweat.  
"Miss Caulfield, we found this in your locker."  
And with these words, Principal Wells put a small bag with a white substance on the desk.  
Shocked, Max stared at the small packet. _This must be a silly joke!_  
"We are pretty sure, Miss Caulfield, that this substance is cocaine. You see, a small amount of weed would be less reprehensible -"  
"Nevertheless strictly forbidden!", David Madsen interposed.  
"- but _this_ ... You'll understand, Miss Caulfield, that I can't leave it like that."  
Max's eyes filled with tears, tears of despair.  
"W-who brought you the packet?", Max asked with a thin voice. And already knew the answer.  
"Yesterday afternoon, Miss Chase saw your locker being open a bit. She wanted to close it, but found the bag. Responsible as she is, she immediately consulted Mr. Grant who in turn informed me."  
Max's head turned to her favourite teacher. "I'm sorry, Max", Ms. Grant told the floor. "The case was unmistakable. I never would have guessed you being involved in something like that. I mean, the scholarship meant a lot for you. I am ... really disappointed."  
Max was paralysed with disbelief.  
And then, there was anger.  
"Victoria showed this to you? Of course she has! Mr. Wells, this girl hates me! She recently threatened me, her and Nathan Prescott, and she must have - she knows a lot of people who - she must have stolen my locker key -"  
"That's ENOUGH!", Wells shouted. His fist plummeted on the desk. "Bad enough you're being linked with drugs. Whether you consume them yourself or - God forbid! - distribute them among fellow students, but trying to drag Miss Chase and Mr. Prescott into this ... even after all of that I did not expect you to do something like this! Your accused classmates are children of good families -"  
"Oh, and I am not because my parents aren't rich?"  
A part of Max couldn't believe what she'd just said to the Principal. _The puppet's rebelling. Pinocchio bursts out.  
_ Principal Wells briefly gave a little cough. "I've been maintaining best contact with the Chase and the Prescott families for years now, and I can assure that Victoria and Nathan are as upright as their reputation. However, this is not about those two but about you. Is there anything productive for you to say in mitigation?"  
Max's fiery anger had died. Of course Wells would always bootlick those money giving asses of the pretty folk.  
Even though it sickened her, Max started to beg in front of all attendants: "Principal Wells, I _beg_ you, you can ask all of my friends, search my room, I am not like this, this is _not_ mine..."  
"And how do you explain the whole thing?" By now, Wells sounded nearly bored.  
 _To him, this is clarified_ , Max realized, panicking.  
"Vic- Somebody must have stolen my locker key!", she repeated her assumption.  
"Do you have it right now?"  
Max automatically reached for her bag, for the small extra pocket where the key usually was. She definitely expected the pocket to be empty, but when her shaky fingers finally managed to open the zipper, she felt the item of interest. She took it. Cold and heavy, the small thing lay in her hand. Seemed to mockingly blink at her.  
Principal Wells sighed.  
"And does anyone else have access to your bag?", he wanted to know.  
"W-well..."  
"Yes or no?"  
"Theoretically, yes. Of course I always look after it -"  
"There you go."  
Max realized too late that she had just shot herself in the foot. She wanted to slap herself for being this stupid.  
"Well, in the classrooms or in the cafeteria, people could have -", Max tried to remedy the situation.  
But Raymond Wells did not want to play this game anymore. So he decided to end it.  
"Max Caulfield, you have absolutely no evidence for your innocence, is that correct?"  
He didn't leave her time to answer.  
"And Miss Chase, you confirm this story to come to pass just the way you told us?"  
"Yes, Principal Wells", Victoria assured the man with a sincere voice. If Max hadn't known she was lying, she'd actually believed her.  
"Then I have no other choice", Wells said with a regretting voice. "As long as the circumstances have not been clarified, and it's a 'she said - she said', I'll have to suspend you from class. And if you can't prove yourself innocent until the end of the month, I must put your scholarship on hold. I'm sorry, but the instructions are unmistakeable in situations like this, miss Caulfield. As you're already full-aged, I won't have to inform your parents, but I'll send a letter to your home address..."  
But Max couldn't hear him anymore. Every sound vanished, the world became black. No, not the world. Max's vision. She turned around, ran through the door - no, she didn't run, she moved slowly like through quicksand - and heard a far, far away David Madsen stridently shout: "You will not be in further touch with my stepdaughter, you got that?!"  
The hallway was empty and the few paces to the girl's washrooms were endlessly far, and when Max finally bent over a toilet bowl, she couldn't vomit, even though her stomach was upside down.

When Max got out of the stall, there was a message on the mirror: "You should better keep an eye on your stuff!", the message said. It was written in intentionally scrawly letters, written with a peach coloured lipstick. Victoria's lipstick. But as a little spark of hope reached Max's heart - her enemy had maybe just revealed herself! - she discovered the lipstick in the trash bin, between used paper towels and empty cigarette boxes.  
An invisible hand cut the puppet's strings and Max broke down.


	14. Chapter 14

Slowly the tears dried up. They'd left salty trails on Max's cheeks, which now started to itch. If it was possible to cry out all of the body fluids, then that's what Max had done. Her eyes were swollen and the sobs winding out of her throat were only a dry kecking by now.  
Dana and Kate had been knocking on the locked door and had been sliding notes through the lower door crack. Max hadn't read them. She was lying on her bed, still wearing her shoes, her face pressed against the cushion she had sewed with her mother years ago. Her cell phone rang and beeped without cease; Warren wrote: _Hey Max, whaddup, everyone's talking sick shit about u on the campus! They're talking trash, right? U really suspended?!_ ; Dana and Kate tried to call Max when they didn't succeed at the door; some unfamiliar phone numbers sent messages like _Drug hoe!_ and _You got junk for me or did they find everything?_

Max couldn't tell how many hours had passed. It got dark, the cell phone finally remained silent, Dana and Kate gave up for now. Max felt weak and not able to get up. Her head hurt and her bladder was too full.  
Slowly, extremely slowly the girl turned from her belly to the side, then she leant onto her arm and slowly got into a sitting position. Immediately, her head was spinning. Black and white dots were dancing in front of Max's eyes like in a kaleidoscope. A twinge shot through her temples. She pressed her hands against her head and took a deep breath before being able to get up. She had been sweating, her jeans and her bra were pinching uncomfortably against her skin, but Max didn't even have the strength to take off her clothes.  
Sluggishly, the student scuffed to the door of her room, briefly put her ear against it, and when she didn't hear anything, she hesitantly turned the key around. Through a narrow gap she peeked at the corridor. When she didn't see anyone, Max fully opened the door and quickly went into the bathroom. Thankfully no one was there, either. Max went to the toilet, then she washed her hands and looked at herself in the mirror.  
A zombie looked back at her, a zombie with ruffled hair, snotty nose and pale skin.  
"Oh my gosh", Max wanted to mutter, but her throat was too dry to make a sound. Max turned the cold water on, her hands forming a bowl, and washed her face. Hundreds of little needles seemed to prickle and tingle on her skin. Her eyes still closed, she let the water drop from her face back into the sink. She felt the wet pearls flowing from her forehead over her nose and temples onto cheeks and chin; some drops were entangled in her slender eyebrows, others flowed over her eyelids, glided into her lashes and then devoted themselves to gravity.  
And suddenly, Max knew what was up.  
She opened her eyes, hastily wiped her face with her sleeve and flounced out of the bathroom.

It was Courtney. She must have tipped Victoria off that Max had met Mr. Jefferson. When they had been sitting at _Golden John's_ , talking about Max's photos, the door had opened and new guests had entered the café. Neither Max nor her teacher had paid attention to it at that moment, but now, recalling the situation, Max realized that she pretty surely had heard Courtney's voice from one of the booths next to the door. And Courtney had once complained about how she had to spend a few hours there with her grandmother and a friend of hers from the retirement home every two weeks, hadn't she?  
Courtney must have spotted Max and Mark Jefferson, immediately passed the information on to Victoria and the latter had been bitching about it in front of Nathan.  
 _He wanted to warn me_ , Max realized. For some reason he wanted to prevent what now had happened - Victoria's revenge hitting Max like a hammer. And during the two days since her meeting with Mr. Jefferson, her school mate surely had had more than one opportunity to steal Max's locker key and bring it back again.  
All of these realizations flashed through Max's mind like thunderbolts. She hastened out of the girls' dormitory and considered feverishly where a Nathan Prescott could be on a Wednesday evening past nine p.m. Probably not in his room.

She didn't have to search very long. The dark haired boy sat alone at one of the tables on the campus, a pencil in his hand, and stared at a piece of paper which he probably couldn't even really see in the darkness.  
Like an avenging angel, Max rushed towards him and planted herself next to him. In this moment, she wasn't afraid of him or his meltdowns or his restless eyes, and in her flaming rage she felt much taller than 1,65 metres.  
"It was Courtney, right?", Max snapped at Nathan.  
He obviously hadn't noticed her and now jumped with shock. He stared at Max who stood, with her legs apart and arms akimbo, next to him.  
"She'd seen me in a situation that would misplease Victoria, and that's why Vic planted the coke on me, right?"  
Nathan stared at Max open mouthed and - began to laugh. Bursting with laughter, he slapped his thighs. Max lowered her arms and suddenly didn't feel strong at all anymore.  
"What - what's the point?"  
Nathan abruptly stopped laughing. "What's the point? What's the POINT?" He jumped to his feet, gruffly grabbed Max's shoulder and yanked her towards him until she was standing really close to him.  
"I tell you what the point is, hippie. This 'situation' you're talking about did not just 'misplease' Victoria." He bared his teeth. Then, suddenly, his face relaxed. The anger in his voice now changed into a nearly businesslike tone, but the fingernails clenching into Max's shoulder told another story. "I told you not to piss her off. That she'll destroy you." He shrugged his shoulders as to express his sympathy.  
 _He is completely insane_ , it flashed through Max's mind.  
"Please", she said with clenched teeth, "please talk to her. Whatever Courtney believes to have seen, it is not like that!"  
Nathan tilted his head to the side and looked Max into the eyes. Hers were light blue, his dark blue.  
 _Dangerous eyes. Haunted eyes.  
_ "Nathan, please. That's ridiculous!" And although she tried to fight it, Max's eyes welled up with tears again. "Please talk to her", she gasped out brokenly. "She can't destroy my life like that, just because her friend _imagines_ to have seen something. The scholarship means everything to me! I didn't _do_ anything! I-" Her voice failed.  
Nathan looked Max in the eyes for another half a second, then his look became insecure and turned away.  
"Plea-", Max tried once again, shakily, but Nathan emitted a furious cry, pushed her away and stomped off into the darkness.  
Max stared after him for a moment, then she spun round on her heel and ran towards the school building in panic. Now there was only one person left who could help her.

 _Please be still here, please be still here, please -_  
Impatient and with her eyes still wet from the tears, Max waited in front of Ms. Grant's office, hoping she would be let in. The small roller blind was drawn behind the milk glass window and Max couldn't see whether the lights inside were still turned on.  
After a few seconds that felt like an eternity for the girl, steps could be heard. The door was opened jauntily - despite her plump build, Ms. Grant was always jaunty - and Ms. Grant's humming voice said: "Yes, what can I do this late-"  
When the teacher saw who stood in front of her door, the sentence was cut.  
Then: "Oh, Max, it's you."  
"M-Miss Grant", was the only thing Max was able to say, then she burst into tears again.  
Max hated to cry in public (and except for that one time when she fell off her bike real badly, she had managed to avoid or at least hide it up to now), but today, all of her inner dams had broken.  
Ms. Grant tugged at her dark curls with an uncomfortable expression on her face. She seemed to be thinking about just closing the door again, but she was too much of a passionate teacher to do so.  
"I just wanted to leave", the woman finally sighed. "Let me get my documents, then we can go out together."  
Max could only nod. Never before she had felt so vulnerable and desperate. Her chest was a compact block of disbelief, consternation, fear and shame.  
Ms. Grant went into her room, came back out immediately after, carrying her bag and some folders under her arm, and locked the door. With her other hand she steered Max gently in the direction of the back exit where the faculty parking was.  
"I guess you didn't just come to me because I'm a guidance counselor, right?", Ms. Grant eventually asked.  
"Yes, mainly due to that", Max kecked out between two sobs. Then she took a deep breath and focused on talking. "Due to that and because you know me."  
"Max, please, I -"  
"Ms. Grant, you know who I'm in contact with, what I'm doing between classes, you know my file. I'm a real bore." Despite the grave situation, Max couldn't help giving a laugh. But it sounded bitter. "And" - a dry sob - "you know the files of other students here."  
"Max", Ms. Grant said sternly and paused, "if you start accusing fellow students of certain things again..."  
"It's not like that", Max hastened to say.  
But Ms. Grant was already walking again. She pushed the backdoor open. The chilly night air blew over Max's untidy hair and made her shiver.  
"Please", Max hurried to keep pace with her teacher, "you'll get a hair sample, or an urine sample, or you take a blood sample from me - I do not take drugs!"  
Ms. Grant unlocked her car, loaded her stuff in and turned to her student. For a moment, she glanced at the nightly school campus, then her eyes went back to Max.  
"I am not dumb, Max", she eventually said. "Money can ensure a lot of things. _Contacts_ can ensure a lot of things. I know that. That's why I'm so fascinated by science: It never betrays you. But people, people do it all the time. I don't believe you're involved in drug stuff. But I don't linger over believing, Max. So many students I have taught, and so many of them had faces and tongues like angels. What lies beneath - well, you can never really know. And those who possess drugs do not necessarily take them."  
Max slowly let her teacher's words reach her brain. _She believes me, but she doesn't care. Or she_ wants _to believe me but can't because experience taught her better. Blackwell is a snake pit, and she thinks I'm one of the elapid snakes._  
"You ... you don't believe me", Max said. It was not a question. It was a statement. Her chin shivered.  
Ms. Grant sighed again. She looked genuinely sad and disappointed. It seemed like she wanted to say something, then she got into her car, started the engine and rolled down the window.  
"My dear Max, please believe me one thing: I want nothing more than believing you're the good girl you behave like. I wish that everything is a huge misunderstanding and you've been falsely accused. That they apologize to you and your life takes back its usual course. I like you, Max, and you know that. Your file does speak in favour of you, that's right - but in the end, I know as little about you as about the black holes in our galaxy. I only know the surface. I am incredibly sorry, my dear, but I cannot help you."  
And with a last, genuinely regretful expression, Ms. Grant drove off.  
Trees were rustling in the wind.  
The gravel under Max's trembling feet softly scrunched when the girl lurched a few steps after the car, looking like the zombie that had stared back at her from the mirror before.  
Everything was dark. The last possible redemption broke away with faintly glowing tail lights.  
Time stood still.  
 _I cannot help you._  
The compact lump that had seemed to suffocate Max earlier now shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. And along with it, the girl's last spark of hope died.  
That was it. Her future had just ended in smoke. Her dream had blown out. Everything she wanted ever since she could remember had vanished in one of Ms. Grant's black holes of the universe.  
"No. No." That was the only word Max could say.  
"No. No. No-no-no-nonononono."  
Max took a deep breath. And then she screamed. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"  
The scream got lost in a high-pitched, desperate sobbing and Max crocked on the spot.  
What was the purpose of legs again?

Max barely heard the steps behind her.  
"Sh, sh", a voice said softly and comforting. "I think you've shed enough tears for today."  
Trance-like, Max observed that someone squatted down beside her and brushed the hair from her face.  
This touch, this hand, was so warm; the only warm, good thing in this cold, awful world. Max couldn't help but closing her eyes and focusing on nothing but this anchor. Like a child she huddled her cheek against the hand.  
The tears were still streaming.  
"It's alright", the voice murmured.  
 _Don't stop talking, you beautiful voice!_  
The hand came off Max's cheek, then an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her up. Being braced like that, Max managed to make a few steps, then she was shaken by another crying fit.  
"It won't work like that, huh?", the voice said, probably more to itself than to the student.  
A few seconds passed, than a second arm slid under Max's legs and cut their connection to the ground.  
The girl was being lifted up like a feather.  
Max faintly noticed the scent of citrus an cypress, then she closed her eyes and her head sank against Mark Jefferson's shoulder.


	15. Chapter 15

-Guys, seriously: SORRY! I've uploaded the German version of this chapter like _ages_ ago on the German-speaking website of Fanfic. It usually takes one to three days for me to find the time and translate  & upload the chapter in English. Again, SORRY! I'm off on vacation now (probably not much internet), but I'm sure I'll come back with many new ideas. :)-

Only now, in the car, Max slowly realized where she was. And who it was that was sitting next to her.  
She slowly turned her head to the left.  
Mr. Jefferson's broody eyes were targeted at the street. "There are tissues in the glove compartment", he tersely said.  
Max quickly blinked a few times and rubbed her swollen eyes. Disoriented, she looked around the car interior.

Why was she here? She vaguely remembered the feeling of being lifted up by Mark Jefferson and being carried like an exhausted child - _or a bride_. He'd let her down next to his car, opened the door and steered the young woman into the seat. He had even strapped her up, while she was sitting there like a ragdoll.  
Max did remember all of this; of course, it was just a few minutes ago, but the memory was blurred and vague like a dream that slips away from somebody, more and more with each second.  
 _Why did he do that?_  
Nothing in her shaken mind made any sense.  
"Tissues. In the glove compartment", Mr. Jefferson repeated. Only now those words reached Max. She leaned over to the red-wooden dashboard and pulled the little handle.  
The glove box was tidy and clean as a whistle. Max took a tissue, closed the compartment and wiped her nose. Then she dried her eyes with the unused end of the tissue, took a deep breath and could think clearly for a moment. Well, nearly.  
"W-where do we go?"  
Mr. Jefferson didn't answer right away.  
"Somewhere you'll have your peace for now", he eventually said, still seeming to hypnotize the street with his eyes.  
 _To a hotel or something?_ , Max asked, but only in her thoughts. She was too tired to talk much. So she lowered her head against the headrest and closed her eyes for a moment.  
In her drowsy state Max barely realized being chauffeured across the city. Her teacher drove calmly and focused, just like she'd experienced it once before. At red lights and roundabouts he slowed so foresightfully that Max didn't really realize it, and he started the fancy set of wheels just as smoothly. In the darkness trees, houses, cars and occasionally pedestrians - mostly accompanied by dogs - were passing by.  
 _I bet Frank never walks his dog_ , Max thought disjointedly. Then she imagined herself smoking a bong in an RV as grubby as Frank's. _That's my future if I really lose my scholarship._ The urge to cry was there, but Max was too weak even for that.

After about twenty minutes they were in a part of the city that was completely foreign to Max. It was an upscale neighbourhood, rather new, in the northwest of Arcadia Bay, further up-country. No one who didn't belong here would come to this place.  
The houses were pretty, big, painted in white and had stucco decoration on their fronts. There were no row houses or apartment buildings; everyone seemed to place value upon privacy. The bushes, hedges, fences and trees were perfectly staged and illuminated by the street lamps, but nevertheless signalized that only "the right" people should enter the properties.  
Max lifted herself a bit. She had dozens of questions, but she didn't know which one she should ask first. Plus, Mr. Jefferson didn't look like he would answer them anyways. So she let it alone.  
Eventually, the car slowed down, turned to the left and rolled up into a plastered driveway. It stopped in front of a garage.  
Mr. Jefferson switched the gearshift to "parking" and pulled out the dash key.  
He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then he said: "We're there."  
Max looked at him from the side, contracting her brows in bewilderment. "Where - _there?_ "  
"Where you'll have your peace", Mr. Jefferson said again. Short pause, then: "At my place."  
Max's eyes grew wider and wider.  
 _At his place! At his place! At his place!_ , an excited parrot shrieked in her head.  
"Mr. Jefferson", was all she could say. He leaned over the center console and insistently looked at her. His eyes were sparkling, looking threatening. "Listen, Max Caulfield: I know you're not involved with that stupid drug story, but I want to hear it from you before I let you into my home and risk my job as a teacher."  
Max was way too taken by surprise to be affronted - after all, she did not _ask_ for this late-night ride!  
"Of - of course I'm not involved with it! It was Victoria. She planted that stuff on me."  
This accusation easily passed Max's lips, as she was dead certain it was right. Unlike Ms. Grant, Mr. Jefferson didn't seem to doubt it.  
"Fine. I guess I don't have to tell you that this" - he pointed towards house and property - "absolutely has to stay between the two of us?" He looked daggers at her.  
"Of course, Sir", Max squeaked, intimidated, hunching her shoulders.  
That seemed to satisfy her teacher. The carnivorous sparkling disappeared from his eyes and he showed a caring semi-smile.  
"You must be awfully exhausted after all this fuss", he said. "You can catch a breath here for now."  
He got out of the car, opened the passenger door for Max and said: "Will it be okay or do you need my help again?" His voice had a little mocking undertone, but his brown eyes were gentle. Max turned scarlet.  
"Will be okay", she murmured while she awkwardly got out of the car. _Idiot!_ , she added in her mind.  
While she shyly followed Mark Jefferson on the way to the front steps, Max whispered: "I really appreciate what you're doing, Mr. Jefferson. But by no means I want" - she fought down her tears - "you to lose your job because of me." The doorbell nameplate, simply stating _M. Jefferson_ , got blurry in front of her eyes for a moment.  
Mr. Jefferson stood on the top step, turned the key in the lock and himself to his student, who, because of the step, was even smaller than she was anyway. He looked up and down at her in a way that made a hot arrow pierce through Max's innards and made herself stroke her fringe from her forehead.  
"That makes you a good person", he replied. "But be unconcerned about it. You're safe here." And he stepped inside.  
 _I'm safe here?_  
Max frowned, then she hesitantly followed Mark Jefferson into his home.

A large, during the day surely light-flooded entrance room awaited Max. While Mr. Jefferson hung up his coat, Max quickly looked around: Above her was a slender, modern chandelier, very elegant and in no way swanky. On the left seemed to be the kitchen, on the right the living room. The floor was made of dark wood that imparted some cosiness to the rooms' white elegance. Wide stairs were leading to the second floor.  
Everything was tidy and placed so perfectly that it was neither cluttered nor bleak. Max was certain that there were no trinkets or dust catchers in the whole house. She did know Mr. Jefferson was officially unwed, but this house was so big and so perfectly furnished ... The thought of a woman in Mark Jefferson's life didn't please her at all for some reason.  
"Doesn't it ... bother someone when I'm here?", Max asked the floor as Mr. Jefferson returned from the coat rack. He stopped short for a second, then he laughed and said: "Well, Tabby at most, and she is usually very pleasant-natured. Apart from that, we're alone."  
He pointed at a stunning long-haired cat that came out of the living room as if she had heard her owner talking about her. Her fur was light grey. Only her paws, tail tip and mouth were white.  
"Oh", Max just said. She felt stupid. As if a man - especially this one - wouldn't be able to furnish a house in good style without a woman. And he certainly needed all the space for his equipment.  
"She's cute. Pretty, I mean. Pretty and cute and ... all."  
 _Stupid brain!_  
But her brain had just had too much to handle for the day. Max felt a huge tiredness descending upon her. She smothered a yawn and rubbed her eyes. Mr. Jefferson watched her.  
"I'll show you where you can rest."  
Max followed her teacher upstairs, then to right.  
"The last door on the right is the bathroom. Maybe you'd like to take a bath. The bathroom pertains to the guestroom, so you don't need to hurry. Directly opposite is the guest room. I'll get it ready for you."  
"You - you don't - don't need to put so much effort ... for me ...", Max stuttered. She was super embarrassed about the fact that this ace photographer did all of this _for her_.  
"I don't want to hear a single word from you!", he sternly answered.  
Max immediately shut her mouth. Why did she always have to obey him?

With a sigh, Max glided deeper into the hot water. Mr. Jefferson had underscored several times that she should feel at home. So after some hesitation she had drawn a bubble bath with a slight scent of roses. With her eyes closed, she recalled the day. She was still exasperated because of her scholarship and Ms. Grant's reaction.  
And she was awfully embarrassed by how she had acted in front of her teacher and now even put his job at risk.  
Her heart was beating like mad when she thought about being in _Mark Jefferson's_ house, in _his_ guest bathroom, lying in _his_ bathtub and slipping into _his_ sheets in _his_. And about only a door separating her naked body from him...  
 _Apart from that, we're alone.  
Oh my gosh, girl, what are you even thinking about after a day like this?!_, she scolded herself. _  
_But that didn't stop the butterflies in her stomach from fluttering around.

Max climbed out of the tub with wrinkled fingers and toes and sniffed at her clothes. She grimaced - she couldn't wear those anymore. There were no bathrobes, so she wrapped herself in the biggest and fluffiest towel she could find, put on her used panties and opened the bathroom door a tiny bit.  
At the other end of the hallway - which was gallery-like, in the shape of a semi-circle - Max saw a light. But the hallway itself was empty. She quickly scurried to the opposite room. The shades were drawn in front of the big window. Delicate white curtains were softly rustling when the air blast from the hastily closed door blew over the cloth. On the left wall was a huge wardrobe, made of white lacquer and dark, rustic wood. Opposite of it was a high double bed on a white flokati rug.  
The bed was newly changed and smelled wonderfully. On the blanket lay a folded piece of clothing and on this piece of clothing was a note. Max curiously approached the bed and bent over the piece of paper.

 _Max,  
_

 _wear this for sleeping, if you want.  
I hope you find some rest after this awful day.  
My room is at the other end of the hall, just in case you need something._

 _Good night._

 _M.J._

Max softly bit her lower lip as she unfolded the clothes. Pyjamas. She slipped into them.  
It was his, dead certain. It was laundered, no doubt, but it smelled like him. The feeling of the soft cloth against Max's naked skin and the thought that it was usually _Mark Jefferson_ who wore those blue-grey pyjamas, gave her goosebumps. The cotton shirt nearly reached down to her knees and the pants kept sliding down, so Max put them off and slid under the blanket, just wearing the shirt and her panties. As soon as her wet hair touched the pillow, she fell asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

The washer started up. Max watched soapy water ascending behind the glass and the drum starting to spin her clothes around.  
After getting up in the forenoon, a whole bunch of memories and impressions had rained down on her.  
 _I'm suspended from class. Ms. Grant doesn't trust me. Nathan is a psycho.  
And I'm in Mark Jefferson's house._  
For several minutes she had been pressing her ear against the door of the guestroom like paranoid, listening if anything moved behind it. Then she had snuck out on the corridor, in the house she didn't live in, wearing a pajama shirt that wasn't hers. Max had silently whizzed down the stairs and had peeked through the front door. Mr. Jefferson's car was gone. She knew he had classes in the late noon on Thursdays.  
Max looked at the kitchen clock. It was just before eleven. She should have enough time to think about how she could get back to school. After all, no one had prohibited her from being in the dorm rooms. And she couldn't lodge herself at Mr. Jefferson's place forever. His presence stirred her up even more than she already was.  
Plus: As little as Max wanted to bump into her classmates - she didn't even have her phone with her. And more than anything else she wanted to call her parents.  
And Chloe. Compared to her suspension, the girls' beef felt so trivial to Max.  
 _And I even was bitchy to her on how she got expelled from the Academy. I actually had that coming to me._  
 _No, you hadn't_ , another voice in Max's head immediately disagreed. _I haven't done any of the things I've been accused of!_  
Max took a deep breath and forced herself not to run around like a scared up chicken. Or - Heaven forbid - cry again. She went back to the guestroom, took her clothes and went downstairs to look for a washer. She quickly found it in a small room behind the kitchen, stuffed her dirty clothes into the luckily empty machine and chose a quick program that only took twenty minutes. While the washer started its work with a low humming sound, Max went back into the kitchen where Mr. Jefferson's cat sat and softly meowed.  
 _Tabby_ , Max remembered while she squatted down to pet the beautiful animal. From this point on, she had a new friend: Tabby watched every step of the girl and followed her when she decided to look around the house.  
After all, this girl was still Max Caulfield.  
And Max Caulfield was goddamn nosey.

The living room looked like it was perfectly arranged for a catalogue. A grey sofa and fitting armchairs stood on a natural white flokati rug. The Coffee table and cabinet were folksy, but with modern glass components. The fireplace was a black, lean cylinder. Above it was a flatscreen TV.  
 _More like_ flattest _screen TV_ , Max thought. She'd never seen a device as flat as this.  
Some of the best photos of Mark Jefferson hung on the wall in a large size, in alternating black and white frames. Among them were even two that Max didn't know. Looking at them, she once again felt like a tiny bug that had accidentally crawled into a celebrity's house.  
She looked down at Tabby. "You have an outstanding master, do you know that?"  
But Tabby was busy cleaning her fur thoroughly.

Just when Max was about to get to the upper floor, she heard a beeping sound. That was probably the washer. She went into the washing room and put her clothes into the dryer.  
Deep in thought, Max looked at the scuttle of the machine and - nearly without noticing it - lifted the collar of the pajama shirt to her nose, deeply inhaling the scent of citrus and cypress.  
 _His_ scent.  
She softly bit her lower lip.  
Tabby's meowing eventually reminded Max that she had planned on examining the upper floor.  
But could she really do that? Letting her famous, handsome teacher bring her to his home and then start prying about?  
 _He didn't tell me not to do it_ , she encouraged herself. _And I won't go into his bedroom_ , she made a deal with herself. She wouldn't dare this despite being so nosey _. Even though he invited me to do so yesterday.  
_ Startled by her own thought, Max stopped for a second.  
 _He didn't_ , she corrected herself. _He just wrote that his room is at the other end of the corridor in case I needed something. Nothing else._  
"Nothing else", she replied in a low voice. Tabby purred, huddled against her ankles and didn't seem to be interested in that young woman's murmur.  
After some hesitation, Max was magically pulled to the upper floor by her nosiness.  
She looked from the left to the right.  
There were six doors up here in total: two on the left, two on the right and a big double door in the middle, just behind the upper end of the stairs, plus the guest bathroom across from the guestroom.  
Of course the double door looked the most interesting, so Max decided to go in there last. _Kind of like the dessert among the doors._  
Far left and far right were bed- and guestroom, Max could skip those. She went towards the second door from the left, briefly pressed her ear against the white lacquered wood and then carefully pushed down the handle. It was a bathroom, just as huge and luxurious as the guest bathroom.  
For a short, irrational moment, Max was sure that she'd see her naked teacher getting out of the shower and then she'd die with shame, but of course the bathroom was empty.  
She took two insecure steps inside. On the sink were a tooth mug, a tooth paste and a toothbrush.  
 _One_ brush.  
Max gave the single toothbrush a derpy smile, then she became a bit more daring and opened the medicine cabinet. Inside were a shaver and shaving foam - _probably for his chest_ -, an aftershave with citrus scent, a perfume ("Wild Cypress") and a packet of brown hair tint for roots and temples.  
 _I knew he dyes his hair._  
Max closed the cabinet, looked at the pale eye circles monster in the mirror for a moment, and left the bathroom.  
Then she went to the second door from the right. Behind it was just a small (but of course neat and tidy) supply closet with cleaning supplies.  
 _So the curtain rises for the mysterious big door_ , Max thought.

The first thing she saw was a lot of light that seemed to flow towards her. The entire opposite wall was a window facade, segmented into black framed rectangles.  
In front of the windows, in the middle of the room, was a grand piano.  
And while Max was wondering if Mr. Jefferson actually played the piano or if grand pianos were just kind of a basic equipment for rich people, she discovered the real treasures: The entire right wall was dedicated to an incredible variety of cameras, tripods, cable releases and subject literature.  
Max approached the wall, her mouth open. This stuff was worth a fortune! From the latest digital reflex camera to diverse instant cameras to multicolored disposable cameras that could be bought in any drugstore, nearly every age and method of photography was represented. _He even has a Gandolfi Stereo!_ This camera alone, that must be over a hundred years old, would have financed Max one to two semesters.  
She stared in amazement. Dozens of Mini-Maxes were reflected in the camera lenses and stared back at the girl in awe.

When the student could finally tear away from the sight after what felt like an eternity, she discovered a small home office at the left end of the room, with a desk and a file cabinet. Also, there was a small photographic studio with dark and white cloths one could use as a background, softboxes and reflectors.  
Max knew that Mark Jefferson owned several studios in bigger cities, but it was knew to her that he obviously also took photographs at home.  
Interested, she went to that part of the room. On Mr. Jefferson's desk were some letter racks. In the one at the top Max recognized documents with the well-known Blackwell letter head.  
 _My parents will receive a letter just like this very soon..._  
She quickly averted her gaze and looked at the metal bulletin board that hung on the wall above the desk. Phone numbers, business cards, sticky notes.  
And...  
Max narrowed her eyes a bit and tilted her head to the side.  
Then her eyes widened.  
She looked at herself.  
Not at a reflection from camera lenses or something.  
But _herself_.  
Her photo.  
The photo Mr. Jefferson had obviously pocketed after their meeting.  
 _He actually kept it! He kept my selfie! He ... he kept my selfie and hung it up above his desk!_

Even though the room was huge, it suddenly seemed to be way to small for Max. Her heart was pounding heavily; she turned around and ran out of the room, down the stairs and into the washing room. The dryer had some more minutes on the countdown, but Max turned it off, waited impatiently for the door to unlock and grabbed her clothes.  
They were still damp, but Max didn't care.  
She ripped the pajama shirt off, jumped into her jeans, bra and own shirt and left the house with a banging door. She blindly walked into a direction that, she guessed, could lead to the school. She stared at the pavement beneath her shoes.  
What was that? Scorn? Did he suspect her to stroll through the house and discover the photograph?  
Was it that obvious to him that she adored him? And _what_ exactly did he mean to achieve? That she felt better? More acknowledged? _Messed around_ for Heaven's sake?!  
Max shook her head as if she wanted to get rid of those thoughts.  
She didn't even quite know why exactly she was so upset.  
Maybe it was just the surreal feeling of an idol keeping something personal of an admirer. As if The Beatles or Freddy Mercury would have pinned photos of random fans above their desks. That was just wrong, from the ground up.  
But that was exactly the problem: She desired something that could never be.

Max would have buried her hands in her pockets and her face in a scarf, but she only wore a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. A cold wind brushed through the streets.  
Max had been strolling around more or less aimlessly for the last fifteen minutes or so.  
Her thoughts fluttered through her head like woozy little birds. When was the last time she had actually been able to think clearly and focused?  
Then she was suddenly standing at a bus stop. She didn't have her wallet with her, let alone smartphone and ticket.  
But when the bus stopped next to her after another five minutes and the doors opened, she got on anyways. The mustachioed driver that she knew by sight briefly looked at her.  
Maybe he pitied her because she looked so wasted. Maybe he recognized her as a student. Or maybe he just didn't care.  
Either way, he gave her a nod after a short moment of hesitation and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder to signalize she could sit down.  
Max exhaustedly gave him a nod back and plunked down into an empty seat at the window. Luckily there were only some elder people and a young mother with her sleeping toddler on the bus.  
 _No Blackwell aholes. Good. I'll meet them soon enough._

Luckily it was once again raining when the bus stopped at Blackwell.  
There were only few students out on campus, and those few hid their heads under umbrellas and hoods.  
Max glanced at the dark clouds above the Academy and wondered how the place of her dreams could have changed into her worst enemy within such a short time.  
She gave the driver a mumbled Thank you and rushed off.

She'd nearly reached the dorm rooms when she bumped into Warren.  
"Oh hey, Max", he called.  
"Hey Warren", she just replied. She was too exhausted for an interrogation.  
"Dude, Max, where have you been? The whole school gossips viciously about you!"  
He looked seriously concerned.  
"How about the whole school goes fucking itself?", a voice came from behind before Max could think of an answer.  
Max turned around, saw blue hair under a grey beanie and in the next moment, she wrapped her arms around her best friend.  
"Chloe", was the only thing she managed to say before her eyes welled up once again.  
"It's okay", Chloe said and patted her back. Then she looked over to Warren, who seemed to be a bit lost next to the girls, and said: "It's okay, nerd. I'll handle this."  
Then she softly pushed Max inside, one arm protectively wrapped around her slender shoulders. "Dude", the punk said, "dramatic performances in the rain are really our thing, eh?"

-Chloe, shortly before-

"Of course you must immediately go to see her as soon as she's in trouble", Rachel had said.  
Max was not in trouble, at least not _this_ kind of trouble. Chloe would give that girl the shirt off her back. Whereas Rachel was a real magnet for trouble and had painted her girlfriend into a corner more than once.  
"Rach", Chloe had simply replied, "if you really like me, you should not interpose yourself between Max and me. She's my-"  
"What? Best friend? You mean before or after those five years during which you did not exist as far as Max was concerned?"  
Chloe did not shirk from her angry look.  
"Always."  
"Oh, please!" Rachel rolled her eyes. "Have we really reached Harry Potter quotes already? Imma get a vomit back!"  
"Rachel." Now Chloe raised her voice a bit. "She's really up shit's creek, and I bet this is the fault of a certain blonde bitch. Or of a total psycho who pretends to be a student. I love you, but I will go to see Max. Try to stop me if you want to."  
The Rumpelstiltskin-expression faded from Rachel's face.  
"She ... really is that important to you?"  
"We grew up together."  
"Answer my question."  
Chloe sighed and rubbed her face with one hand. "Yes. One of the most important people in my life, if you really want to know. But just in case you failed to hear it the first few thousand times: She's not you and she'll never be what you are. You're my little princess."  
"And her?"  
Chloe sighed again, looked at the scribbled over growth chart and smiled a bit.  
"She's my First Officer. And a pirate captain won't leave her First Officer behind."  
Saying this, she left the room.

-Hi there. I don't mean to create tension or something, but you can be looking forward to the next chapter ;-P-


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